Heart of the Horselord
by rynogeny
Summary: AU, Eomer OC. During the first year of his reign, Eomer discovers the hard won peace of the War of the Ring is not as complete as they'd hoped, and that there's nothing simple about being King. Particularly love. Last chapter up.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I realize some of you who've enjoyed my Lothiriel stories won't care for this one, given its OC/AU nature. My apologies for that. I decided my writing skills could benefit from writing a long story with as many original characters as possible, and this is the result. Take heart: I still have plans for a sequel to Awakenings, the second in the Eomer/Lothiriel series I've done. See below for an additional A/N._

_This is mostly movieverse, with some details added from the books. Also, don't despair – more canon characters do show up, but they're not very present in the beginning of the story._

_Timeline Notes: According to Tolkien's timeline, the ring was destroyed on March 25, 3019 TA (Third Age); Aragorn was crowned on May 1st; Eomer and Eowyn left May 8 for Rohan; Eomer then returned to Gondor in July to escort Theoden's body back to Edoras._

_Thus the first part of the prologue occurs shortly after Eomer is banished from Edoras, but before the attack on Helm's Deep._

_

* * *

_

_Late February, 3019 TA_

"Are we going to die?" Her sister's voice was very small, very frightened.

"No." _Yes. Probably._ The west end of the village was already burning, and she could hear women screaming. Not good. There were so few men left, and those that were had gone off that afternoon after word of an a marauding band of orcs had come in. These were no orcs attacking them, but wild Dunlendings from the west. She looked around, tried to avoid the frightened eyes of her sister. There was no where for them to go, but to stay meant death.

She made a decision. "Brynwyn, get your cloak. Quickly!" Turning, she grabbed her own wrap, went to the door of the small cottage. Noting her sister was now in her cloak, trying to fasten it, she looked outside.

The west was lit by the burning homes, the east was dark from the moonless night. But it was to the east they would go. Lisswyn slipped out, turned to motion Brynwyn out behind her…and heard a scream that told her they were too late.

She turned, saw two dark Dunlendings bearing down on her, torches made from burning pieces of her neighbors' homes in their hands and leers on their faces. Knowing what the leers meant, and knowing they wouldn't limit their perversions to just her, her fear intensified. Down the lane, she saw others of their kind coming. Was there no way she could at least save her sister? Shoving Brynwyn behind her, she started backing up, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that could yet give them a chance.

The wildmen stopped. Grinned at her. Then the biggest one tossed his torch onto the roof of their home. It was dry, for it had been a dry winter, and in seconds, the structure joined the others that were burning. The men laughed with glee, and moved closer, trying to trap them against the burning cottage. She motioned behind her with her hand, trying to tell Brynwyn to back up, to move toward the corner. If they could reach the open field...

The heat from the fire was growing. Any moment, the roof would cave in and the walls would follow. Perhaps that would distract the men stalking toward her.

Too late. The nearest one jumped toward her, dropping his torch as he tried to grab her.

"Run!" she shouted to her sister before ducking beneath her attacker's arm. Knowing she risked a bad burn, if nothing else, she hit the ground, rolled until she was able to grab the branch, still burning brightly. She leapt back to her feet and desperately stabbed out with it, managing to catch her enemy with a swipe across the chest. He stumbled backward, looked down to see if he was burning.

She darted closer, swiped again, this time higher up. And found fortune, as his beard caught fire. He howled, and began beating his face in attempt to put it out. If she survived this, perhaps she would someday find the memory of the man hitting himself amusing.

But his companion, no longer smiling, moved in closer, and she saw now that in addition to a torch, he carried a sword. He sliced out at her with it, and she ducked, tried to reach him with her torch. He darted back, then came toward her again, only to feint right at the last moment. With terror, she realized he was not aiming for her, but for the little girl behind her.

"No! You will not harm her!" It was suicide, she knew that. But perhaps she could give Brynwyn a chance. She charged him, torch held in front of her. It would be an easy thing for him to strike her down. "Run!" she cried again to her sister, knowing it was hopeless, knowing the little girl wouldn't know where to run even if her fear wasn't holding her motionless.

…and the whole world was suddenly filled with shouts and thundering hooves. It was uncertain as to who was more startled – Lisswyn or her assailant. But she recovered first, recognizing the horsemen as Eorlingas. Still holding her brand, now burning dangerously low, she darted back toward the dubious shelter of the burning cottage, and Brynwyn, cowering near it.

The Dunlendings were no match for the riders, particularly one who was obviously the leader. His helmet had a long tail, a mark of leadership, but she couldn't tell its color.

It mattered not as she watched him hew down the men who'd been threatening her.

Dropping the torch, she ran forward and pried the sword from the second man's hand. A weapon was a weapon.

Lisswyn looked back up, found the rider looking at her.

For a moment, his face shone clear in the firelight. He nodded to her, to the sword she now clutched. "Keep that. There may be others we've missed. We'll be back."

Then he spun his horse and galloped toward the retreating wildmen.

Brynwyn crept up to her. "Are the wildmen gone?"

"They will be."

"Who were the riders?"

"I don't know. We may yet find out, but it is enough that the eored was near, and came to our aid."

The horsemen were now out of her sight, and she looked down at Brynwyn. The little girl was trembling, and Lisswyn doubted it was from the cold. She dropped the sword, wrapped her arms around her sister and held her tight. They were alive. For the moment, it was enough.

Then she looked back toward the cottage, now consumed. The new question was how they were going to _stay_ alive with no home.

Wanting to tremble and weep herself, she instead turned back to Brynwyn, brushed the little girl's hair out of her eyes. "We will be fine. The riders saved us…won't that be a tale to tell?"

Her sister nodded, her own attempt at bravery. Then she too looked over at the wreckage of their home, looked back at Lisswyn, her eyes full of questions.

"We'll go see how others in the village fared, see if we can find shelter."

In the distance, shouts were dying down. She wondered if the riders would return. In her mind's eye she could still see the leader, and the look he'd given her. A strong face, a good man. She hoped she learned his name.

She picked up the sword, took her sister's hand, and started cautiously down the lane. They had not gone far when she began to wish they hadn't, that she'd at least been able to spare her sister the sight of so many of their neighbors, dead in front of them. Where was Maegwen and her family? And Hilde?

"Lisswyn!"

She turned at the sound of her name, relieved to see their uncle coming toward them. The husband of her father's sister, he wasn't a favorite of hers as he'd ever been critical of her father. But a known face was a welcome sight.

"We saw the cottage go, and feared for you. Did you see the eored come through?" He sounded awed, something she would have been hard pressed to imagine.

"They saved us." She had to ask, had to know. "Does anyone know who they were?"

The old man looked at her, then glanced down at Brynwyn, an absent frown on his face. He started to answer, but was prevented by the sound of the horsemen returning. They looked up, and Lisswyn was glad to see the leader riding toward them, his helmet distinct even in the dim firelight.

He rode up beside them, pulled his horse to a stop. He looked as if he would address Lisswyn, but her uncle stepped in front of her. Brynwyn, on the other hand, hid behind her, and Lisswyn wondered if they appeared as silly as she suspected.

"I owe you gratitude for saving the lives of my nieces, Lord."

Lord? Who was this man?

The rider nodded at her uncle, dismounted, and stepped sideways enough to see her.

"Where will you go now?" He seemed to be appraising her age. "Does your husband live?"

Lisswyn opened her mouth to answer, but her uncle's braying laughter stopped her. "Her? She has no husband. None were good enough for her."

Lisswyn's face burned with anger and shame. He was being so unfair, and to mock her in such a manner in front of the rider was unenduable. The truth was, there were so few men of her age left in the village – most wiped out by orc-raids – that there'd been none to really choose from. So he, her fifty-five year old uncle-by-marriage, had announced he would marry her after her aunt had died of a sickness the year before. And was yet angry that she had turned him down, that her father had supported her in that choice.

The rider completely ignored the comment, and repeated his question. "Where then, will you go?"

"They will go home with me." Her uncle again answered before she could speak. The rider was going to think her mute. Not that it mattered. "Those who still have standing homes will provide for those who do not. It's the way of our village."

In this, at least, he was correct, and Lisswyn spared a moment to wonder who else in the village still had a cottage left. Then she was distracted again by the rider. He moved a little to her left again, looking down, and she realized he was watching Brynwyn.

Baffled, she watched as he kneeled in front of her, but looked behind her, at her sister.

"And who are you?" His voice was soft. Her uncle opened his mouth again to speak, but the rider silenced him, finally, with nothing more than a glance, before looking again at her sister.

Lisswyn, standing between him and Brynwyn, felt a little ridiculous. But her sister's quiet crying seemed to be slowing. It took a long moment before the little girl answered, and even Lisswyn had to strain to hear her. "Brynwyn."

But the rider seemed to have no trouble making out the quiet answer. "Brynwyn... you were very brave today." He stood, looked at Lisswyn. "Both of you were."

Lisswyn felt heat crawl up her cheeks again. He was wrong, of course. She hadn't been brave. Just desperate and stupid. "Thank you, Lord." She looked at him again, wanting to remember everything about his face, his eyes. "And thank you for saving us."

He mounted his horse, glanced again at her uncle. "I'll try to send some men back to check on how your village fares."

Her uncle nodded, would have spoken, but the rider was once more looking at Lisswyn. He said nothing though, only nodded to her and Brynwyn before turning his horse and galloping off, calling for his men as he went.

Lisswyn turned to her uncle. "You called him Lord. Do you know who he was, then?"

"It was Eomer. Third Marshal of the Mark, and nephew of the king."

Her heart gave a hard rap against her ribs. Nephew of the king. He was said to be one of the greatest warriors seen in the Riddermark in many a year. And he had saved her life.

* * *

_Late May, 3019 TA_

Eomer, King of Rohan, pulled his horse to a halt, looked over the plains. There, in the far distance, was their destination. Edoras, home of Meduseld, shining golden in the afternoon sun.

His riders were quiet, sensitive to his mood.

He looked over his shoulder as his sister rode up to pause next to him.

"He died well." Her eyes reflected lingering grief at the death of the man they'd both called father.

As ever, she understood. Or nearly.

"It should be Theodred." Coming back to rule in his father's place.

She looked back toward their home, then back to him. Nodded, her eyes full of compassion. "But it is not. He, too, rests well. And yours is the task we always thought would be his." Eowyn paused. "Do you doubt yourself, your strength for this task?"

He looked at her, vaguely startled. Slowly shook his head. "Though I doubt it will be as easy for me as it would have been for him." There were no words to explain the grief, the renewed sense of loss. He'd been banished by Wormtongue shortly before his cousin's death; had been hundreds of miles away when they buried him. And there had been no time since then to mourn the man he'd loved as a brother. "He asked me once, when we were young, if it bothered me that he would be king."

"And what did you tell him?"

His voice soft, Eomer paused before answering. "I laughed, and told him it suited me quite well for him to have the kingdom. All I wanted was an eored, and to be Marshal as our father before me." He sighed.

"You have been Marshal; now you must rule for him, in his stead."

"Yes." He looked at her for a long moment, allowed her to see his grief. Then spurred his horse forward with a shout.

His riders followed, and Eowyn watched them go. They were good men, and she was grateful for their loyalty to her brother. He was going to need it.

* * *

Four days after their return, Eomer stood outside Edoras, staring at the burial mounds where the former kings of the Riddermark were laid to rest. They stretched out in two directions, one for each of the lines of kings. The first line had ended some 260 years earlier, when both of Helm Hammerhand's sons had perished alongside him in battle and the reign had passed to Helm's sister-son, Frealaf. And now Frealaf's line would end similarly, with Theoden buried together with his only son and the reign passing to Eomer.

He walked slowly past the mounds of the earlier kings until he at last stood before the newest one. Soberly, he stared past the tomb where his cousin slept, where his uncle would soon be laid.

"I don't know what manner of king I will be," he finally murmured. "But I'm a better man because of the time you were willing to spend with a young boy." Feeling as if he were making a solemn oath, he turned, looked at the other mounds, then beyond them, to the plains of the Mark, to Edoras rising up behind him, before once more staring at his cousin's grave. "I'm not you, will not be the king you would have been. But I will do my best."

He fell silent, aware that he was listening for something. Hoping for something. Some sign, perhaps, though he wasn't much given to belief in such things. All that came was an awareness of how much there was much to do to set the Mark right.

Against all odds, Sauron had been defeated, but their victory had not been without great cost. The Riddermark had lost far more than just her king and his heir. Herds and villages from one end of the Mark to the other had suffered, and the loss of men, both young and old, seemed nearly incalculable.

As it frequently had, his mind turned to the village he and his men had helped in battle with the Dunlendings back in the early spring. He'd promised to send men back to assist them, and not done so, due to the war calling him south. That broken promise still troubled him. Were they safe? Had there been enough shelter for all the survivors? Enough food?

He wanted to go himself, wanted his people to know their welfare mattered to him, but it would be several months before he was free to do so. But perhaps there were others he could send, and once some of the more immediately pressing matters in Edoras were addressed, he would go himself. Would make a survey of the Riddermark before autumn, make sure that people got the assistance they needed.

Needs were great, losses were many. But Sauron was defeated, hope had survived, and the Riddermark would survive as well.

Not everyone had perished.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned, watched Eowyn come toward him. Bending down, he picked one of the little white flowers that grew on the graves, and waited for her to reach him.

When she did, she cocked her head, stared at him for a long moment. "You do not seem so full of grief today."

He paused, twirled the flower in his fingers thoughtfully before responding. "No." He tucked the flower in her hair. "Because I was remembering that we could have been burying my sister as well."

"It was not my time."

"No." He leaned forward, kissed her forehead. "And both I and the Prince of Ithilien rejoice in that." As long as he lived, he would remember the terror of finding her on the fields of the Pelennor, of believing she had gone to her death even as Theoden had died beside her.

Together, they turned, walked back toward the city gates. There was much to do.

* * *

_A/N 2: This is finished, but I'm revising some of it while also working on other things. I hope to post a chapter a week or so. Also – I started writing this well over a year ago, and all the essential plot points have been in place (in my mind, at least) since March '04. Occasionally, I see other stories that have similar twists, and all I can say is that it's a very easy thing to come up with similar ideas when playing in Middle Earth. :)  
_


	2. Survival

_Early September, 3019 TA_

"Lisswyn…we can not stay here. The cold winds will soon blow."

Looking up at Hilde from the dried beans she was sorting, Lisswyn kept her voice calm. "Others have survived here."

"We do not have enough skins to manage winter in the caves."

She looked around the cave. Both of them were correct. Their people had wintered here in years past. But it took far more provisions than she and the small group of women currently residing there had. Lisswyn turned, met the eyes of the third woman sitting with them. While it was Hilde's nature to worry and fuss, Maegwen's calm pragmatism encouraged all of them. "We have no where else to go," Lisswyn finally said. "We will find a way to survive." There was no other choice.

The year had not been kind to the village. Her uncle's words to the Third Marshal had been well-intentioned, but misguided. No matter how they tried to manage it, there had simply not been enough homes left to provide shelter for everyone in the village, even with most of the men dead, or gone to war.

Then someone had remembered the system of caves not far from the village site. It was not extensive, but was at least a form of shelter, for the warm months at least. Winter was going to be a problem, one Lisswyn did not yet know how to solve. And for reasons she was unclear on, the other seven women, of various ages and situations, were looking to her to find the answer, both for them and the nine children also living with them.

Technically, she did not have to be here. Her uncle had been quite willing to give her and Brynwyn space in his home, provided Lisswyn married him. Again, she'd refused. And he had ordered them both out.

More than once, she'd looked at Brynwyn and wondered if she'd made the right choice.

"What will we do?" Hilde's voice broke into her thoughts again. Lisswyn looked around. They had some food, as they'd had access to their gardens, though it wouldn't be as plentiful as in previous years as the fire had destroyed seeds preserved from the summer before.

And there was some wood for fires, harvested from the ruined homes. But they needed warm clothing and furs. And in the absence of furs, would need more wood, wood it would be difficult to come by.

"Those who remain in the village will share what they can," Maegwen said quietly.

"They don't have much, either," Hilde retorted.

Lisswyn sighed. She needed a loom and spinning wheel. If she could acquire those, she could make clothing for them, not just to wear, but to trade. But hers had been lost in the fire, and no one else had one to spare.

"Lisswyn!" Her head jerked as she heard her sister's voice, a moment before the little girl ran into the room, in obvious distress. "You must come. It's him. He's injured!"

"Child, what are you daydreaming now? You should never enter a room shouting." Although she had a fondness for Brynwyn, Hilde generally had little patience for children. Lisswyn often thought it perhaps a good thing the elderly woman had never had any.

Brynwyn ignored her, and pulled on Lisswyn's arm. "You must come."

Lisswyn, knowing her sister would not be so agitated over nothing, allowed herself to be pulled along towards the entrance to the cave. "Who is injured, Brynwyn?"

"Him! He saved us! The Marshal of the Mark!"

The little girl was too upset, pulling too hard to say anymore, and Lisswyn gave up. It didn't matter who it was, or who Brynwyn believed it to be – and obviously it was not the rider who'd saved them so many months earlier. But if there were an injured man outside, he needed help.

She followed her sister down the rocky path, through some scrub trees and across the little creek. The fact that Brynwyn had been much further away from the caves than she was supposed to be was not escaping Lisswyn's notice, and she figured that only added to the sense of urgency. Brynwyn would not manufacture something that was only going to get her in trouble.

They went for nearly a mile, with Lisswyn becoming more and more angry that Brynwyn had been so far from the caves without her being aware of it, when she saw him. A solitary figure, dressed in Rohirrim armour, slumped on the ground, an arrow protuding from his left shoulder and his horse nearby. Her heart, already overburdened by the run, skipped a beat. An arrow? Even as they moved closer, she was looking around anxiously.

Who would have shot him? Were they in danger? It had been months since there was any orc activity in the area, but the Dunlendings did not use bows.

Then they came close enough to the man to recognize him, and all thoughts of being watched by someone with a bow fled her mind. It was, indeed, the man who'd saved them from the wildman. But he was no longer the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. He was its King.

She dropped next to him, felt for a pulse, wanted to collapse with relief when she found one. He was still alive then. But how came he here, alone? Where were his men?

He was pale, but the arrow sticking out of his left shoulder was preventing much loss of blood. That would change when it was removed, of course, but first they had to get him back to the caves. The question was how.

She looked around. Brynwyn was sitting on the other side of him, silent tears streaking down her face. They had to have help. Perhaps several of them together could get him on his horse, or devise a litter to carry him in. He was so large – how would they manage? She started to speak, to send Brynwyn back for some of the other women, when he groaned.

Startled, Lisswyn looked down.

He opened his eyes, closed them. With a grimace, he lifted his right hand, and rubbed his eyes, then looked at her. For a moment, he almost seemed to recognize her. Impossible, of course. "Where are we?"

"Near caves that my people have been dwelling in."

"Caves?"

She nodded. "Sire..my lord…where are your men?" If any were nearby, as they must be, they could help get him to safety.

He looked at her, and she saw a flash of grief. "Looking for me…those who still live."

That didn't sound good. She looked at Brynwyn, prepared again to send the little girl for help.

"Help me sit up."

Startled, she looked back at him. "You should not move, sire."

"Probably not. But we need to leave this area…reach the shelter of your caves."

Uneasy, she looked around, wondered again who had wounded him.

"Help me sit up." A command, more than a request. She looked at him, saw he was holding his hand out to her.

Wondering why such a simple touch should feel so intimate, she clasped his hand, pulled. Despite obvious pain, he managed to brace himself with his useless left arm and allowed her to pull him to a sitting position.

Lisswyn watched him anxiously, wondered how he could remain conscious with that lethal looking arrow sticking out of him. Wished she could yank it out, knew she dare not. Not yet.

He leaned on his right hand, took several harsh breaths before looking around. And she saw his relief when he spied his horse nearby.

For the first time, he seemed to notice Brynwyn sitting on the other side of him. As unsteady as he was, he reached out with his good arm and brushed the tears from her cheek.

"Do not weep for me, Brynwyn. I will be fine once the arrow is removed."

Startled, Lisswyn simply stared at him when she heard him use her sister's name. He remembered them. But how could he? So many villages...she nearly missed his next words.

"Will you go get my horse for me? He will let you lead him. His name is Firefoot." He was still speaking to Brynwyn, and the little girl, glowing at the idea of being asked to help, jumped up with a nod and moved toward the horse.

The King looked back at Lisswyn. "We must get out of the open. How far away are the caves?"

"About a mile."

He nodded, grimaced.

"Who shot you, sire?"

"Orcs. Orcs on wargs."

Lisswyn opened her mouth, closed it. The orcs in the area were nearly all gone, had scattered after the destruction of Isengard. And the wargs had all been killed. Hadn't they?

She didn't realize he was watching her. "Exactly." His voice was weary, and full of pain. "I do not know where they came from, or how many of them there are. Which is why we need to find shelter quickly."

Brynwyn walked up, carefully holding the reins of the big horse. The animal leaned over and snuffled at the man on the ground, and the King responded by reaching up with his good arm to touch the beast's nose. Then he looked back at Lisswyn. "You need to help me stand. Once I'm in the saddle, you can help your sister up in front of me, then come up behind me yourself."

Startled, she simply stared at him, then looked at the horse.

"He can easily carry us all, and we'll cover the distance that much faster."

Lisswyn slowly nodded. He certainly knew his horse better than she did; he also had a better sense of how much danger they were in than did she.

"Help me up."

She stood, held out her hand to him.

He took a deep breath, took her hand, and allowed her to pull him up…then she watched in horror as it seemed he would simply tip over, onto his face. She quickly moved to his uninjured side, put her arms around his waist, tried to steady him. Tried not to think about the muscles she could feel under the armour, or who it was she was holding so closely.

He leaned on her for a moment, what felt like his full weight. "Sorry about this," he murmured. Then he took another breath, and to her alarm it sounded shallow.

He made a clicking noise in his throat, and the horse came to him. The animal seemed huge to Lisswyn…how were they going to get him on it?

The King glanced at her, and she noticed how much paler he seemed now than when they'd found him. However it happened, it needed to happen soon. He must be on the brink of losing consciousness.

He gripped the saddle with his good hand, and before she could even guess what he intended, his foot was in the stirrup and he was hauling himself up, one handed.

But it had cost him dearly. Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he wavered as if he would fall.

Lisswyn leapt forward, tried to stabilize him. "Sire!"

He looked at her, nodded to indicate that he was still conscious.

"Brynwyn."

Lisswyn still had doubts about getting all three of them on the horse, but wasn't prepared to argue with him. At least not about this. If Brynwyn, at least, was on the horse with him, and danger came, the two of them could possibly make it back to the caves. Though how much protection the caves would provide in an attack was dubious.

She motioned her sister over to her, then cupped her hands, indicating she should settle in front of the King. "Try not to jostle him."

Brynwyn, her eyes wide with fear, nodded, and stepped into Lisswyn's hands. Fortunately, she was small for her age, and light, and settled easily in front of the injured king. Lisswyn had only one moment of concern, when she feared the little girl would bump the arrow. And again wondered if she'd made the right decision in not already trying to remove it.

Then she hesitated. It was only a mile. She could walk along beside them, and they'd be there with no chance of her jostling him.

"You're not thinking of disobeying your king, are you?" The words, seemingly intended as humorous in tone, came out on a gasp, and she looked up at him in alarm. His face had changed from merely pale to grey. There was no more time.

Getting on the horse when she was afraid to touch him wasn't going to be easy. But then she noted he'd pulled his foot from the stirrup. That would help. She reached in front of him, grabbed the mane, and used that to pull herself up behind him, grateful her skirts were full enough that it was even possible. Riding sidesaddle would not have been.

"Hold on to my waist." Lisswyn wrapped one arm around his waist, as he'd commanded, and reached forward to grip Brynwyn with the other. She noted that he had the reins in his good hand, with that arm also around her sister.

He spoke softly to the horse, and they started to move. Lisswyn heard her sister giving him directions, which was just as well, as it would have been too hard for her to do so, with her face pressed into his back.

She could feel how unsteady he was, and marveled again that he'd managed to mount the horse, more so that he was still conscious.

Tightening her grip, she tried to think, to plan what she would need once they arrived back, what kind of medical care he was likely to require, but couldn't. Her mind, for the moment, seemed completely shut down, aware only of whose back she was tucked so closely to, of whose waist her arms were around.


	3. Tending the King

_A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the first two parts, particularly those of you who don't normally read OC stories. Any and all feedback is appreciated._

_A/N2: I should probably have noted at the beginning of the first part that this story will be quite angsty in places.

* * *

_

"Stop here." They had reached the scrub trees at the bottom of the hill where the caves were, and Lisswyn thought it prudent to guide the horse up the path. It was wide enough, stable enough for horses to manage it, but it would be easier if she were guiding him.

Firefoot stopped, and Lisswyn had the uneasy feeling that it was more at her words than because the King had pulled back on the reins. He was barely conscious.

She slipped off the horse, and moved up to where Brynwyn sat, clinging to the animal's mane. "Here. Let me help you off…be very careful not to jostle him."

Brynwyn eased to the ground, then anxiously looked back up.

"Run ahead, and tell Hilde and Maegwen that I'm bringing an injured man up. Have them start heating water, and make a pile of our bedcovers. And get my healing herbs out."

The little girl ran off, up the path, and Lisswyn looked back at the King. Without Brynwyn in front of him, he was now slumped forward against the horse's neck.

She looked at Firefoot. "You must not drop him -- do you understand? It is up to you to make sure he stays mounted." The horse whuffed at her, as if he did understand, and taking the reins, Lisswyn turned and started up the path. She picked her way carefully among the rocks, glad for the coverage of the trees.

The path wound up and through some large boulders before the cave entrance became visible. It was large enough to take the horse in, but the boulders blocked its visibility unless you were directly in front of it. She was counting on that hiding them from the orcs.

Brynwyn was waiting, and helped her guide Firefoot in. The first cave in the system was large enough for the horse to be stabled there, and Lisswyn paused once they were inside. The entrance between this cave and the next was more narrow; they would have to get the King down and into the next room on their own.

"Sire? My lord?"

He nodded his head, but did not speak, and Lisswyn looked at her sister. "Get Maegwen and Hilde. Hurry."

It took all of them to get him down, but much to Lisswyn's relief, the King was finally as comfortable as she could make him on the pile of their bed coverings in one of the larger caves.

Hilde bustled back in with a pot of hot water. Lisswyn nodded. "Bring more, please. And cool water as well." The older woman left, and Lisswyn turned to look once more at the King.

It was time to try and take the arrow out, something she both feared and longed to have done. But first his armor must come off, or it would make removing the arrow even more difficult.

Or at least as much of the armor as she could get to while the arrow was still in him. Maegwen and the other women were silent behind her as she began unfastening and unbuckling.

The leather overdressing was simple to unfasten, and even remove, and without it, it was easier to see how the arrow had slipped through the rings of the mail to penetrate his shoulder, hitting the exposed area between his breastplate and left shoulder's spaulder. The space between the pieces of his armor was so small…it had been a lucky shot indeed for the orc that had let loose the arrow.

There was dried blood around the wound, but very little seepage. That would change, of course, when the arrow was removed. The irony of these kinds of wounds was that even as they were inflicting hideous pain, they were preventing loss of blood.

They had so few clothes, so little cloth. But she had to have bandages to staunch the wound when the bleeding started. She went to the box where she kept her things and pulled out her remaining two shifts, her wool skirt, and a wool dress. She had no idea how much blood there would be.

"What are you doing?" Hilde, returning with more water, gave her a disapproving look as she answered her own question. "You're not using all of those on him? That's all you have."

"I will use what I need."

"That is foolishness. We must do what we can for him, of course. But without warm clothes, you will freeze when the cold comes."

Lisswyn didn't answer. She knew Hilde's attitude would probably be different if she knew who the man was, but there was no time for such a conversation. And in the end, she would have done the same for any such injured man. Her feelings about it might have been different, but her feelings were her own and would have to wait until later to be examined as well.

"Brynwyn, bring me the candle." She pointed to a spot near the King's shoulder. "I need you to hold it right there, as still as you can."

She tore her lightweight shifts into strips and dipped them in the hot water Brynwyn had brought. Then, finally, Lisswyn looked at the arrow. Frowning, she reached over, carefully touched it. Though there was no question it was, in fact, an orc arrow, it was much thinner than any she'd seen before, and presumably lighter. If so, it might have done less damage than what was normally seen in an arrow injury. But why? What would be the purpose in such a thing?

The king groaned softly, and she jerked her thoughts back to the task at hand. While relieved the damage might not be as bad as what she'd seen before, the arrow still had to be removed, and there was no one else to do it

Her mother had been the healer; Lisswyn was only a weaver. Of the women present, she had the most medical knowledge due to having assisted her mother. But that had been years earlier and her knowledge was limited.

She was desperately afraid it wasn't going to be enough.

She folded one of the wet strips and laid it next to the wound, so it would be available when she'd removed the arrow, to begin staunching the blood. Then she took a deep breath…and jumped when he suddenly reached for her arm with his uninjured hand. He clasped her hand.

"You think too much. It must come out." His voice was weak, slurred, but determined.

"I know, sire." She looked at him, bit her lip. Nodded. "I am sorry." Sorry for the pain she was about to inflict, sorry she had so little to ease him with.

He seemed to understand, and squeezed her hand before releasing it to take hold of the bed covers under him.

Lisswyn began to move the arrow in an attempt to loosen it. Though firmly lodged, it didn't seem to have penetrated as deeply as she might have expected, and after a moment, she realized it was being held in place partially by the chain mail surrounding it. Fresh blood began to flow out from the wound as she moved the arrow, and a noise of pain escaped him. She spared him a glance, saw he was gritting his teeth, and her stomach clenched at the thought of the pain she was causing him. This was why she'd not chosen to follow her mother in becoming a healer.

Pushing those thoughts away, she turned back to the arrow. His good fortune, if you could call it such, was that the arrowhead appeared to have struck bone, but not broken it. Something other than his mail must have slowed the penetration of the arrow. His shield perhaps.

She wanted to avoid doing any more damage than was necessary, but did not want to delay having it out. Unfortunately, the weapon was designed for the purpose of doing as much damage as possible, and she finally gave up and pulled, as gently as possible, but with determination.

It started to slide out, more easily than she might have expected, but the pain was apparently too great for him. He went white, and passed out. A tear escaped and rolled down her face, and she angrily wiped it away with her shoulder. She had no time for the weakness of tears.

She pulled again, determined to get the arrow out quickly, but without risking part of the tip breaking off. Perhaps it was a blessing that he was unconscious, would not feel the arrow being removed.

She suppressed the fear she'd heard his last words spoken.

It was coming lose, and with him unconscious, she felt free to gently move it back and forth until finally, with a fresh gush of blood, it came completely out of the wound. She laid it aside to be examined later, and worked at staunching the blood.

It took some effort, but she was able to pull back his chain mail enough to expose the wound. There really did seem to be less damage than an arrow normally left. The wound was smaller and shallower. That could only be a good thing. She wet several strips of cloth before piling them on the wound in hopes that they wouldn't stick later. She had no idea if it would work.

The cloths were turning red as fast as she added them on top of the wound.

When she was starting to believe he would really bleed to death in front of her, she remembered the healing herbs she'd gathered the week before. Relief and hope nearly made her light-headed.

She looked down at the pouch of herbs. Afraid to take her hands off the wound, she nodded to it.

"Maegwen…hand me one of those dark green leaves."

The other woman scuttled over and picked up one of the only dark leaves in the pouch.

Her mother had referred to the plant as having blood clotting properties, but Lisswyn had never seen it demonstrated, and could only hope for the best. Rolling the leaf up, she dipped it in the water, then eased the blood-soaked bandages up and laid the leaf in the wound. It was not the normal way of using herbs, but there was no time to make a proper paste out of the plant.

She dropped the bandage back in place, applied pressure.

And realized he was beginning to sweat. She brushed his hair off his forehead with her other hand, and her worst fears were confirmed. He was feverish. An infection was setting in.

"You will _not_ die on me." She muttered it under her breath, or believed she had, until she saw Brynwyn start, and regretted her words. There was no use upsetting her sister needlessly.

She looked up. "He said he would be fine, remember? I was just reminding him."

Brynwyn nodded, her eyes too big in a pale face.

Lisswyn reached for another strip of cloth, but wet this one in cool water and placed it on his forehead.

All there really was to do now was wait. Hopefully, the herb would help with the clotting, and the bleeding would slow. Then she could worry more properly about the infection and his fever.

"Hilde." She looked up at the other woman. "I need you to place your hand here, over the bandages, and apply steady pressure. Try not to move it around."

The other woman took over, and Lisswyn was able to step back for a moment.

As she moved to another bowl of hot water, and began washing the blood off her hands – and she simply would not think about whose blood it was – she motioned for Maegwen to come with her.

"Where are your boys?"

The other woman looked startled. "They are up with the rider's horse. Why?"

Lisswyn hesitated. The boys were young, ten and twelve, but they were bright. Responsible. Did she have the right to ask Maegwen to risk them? She didn't know.

She wiped her hands on one of the cloths, then looked the other woman in the face.

She motioned to the King. "He was attacked by orcs. Orcs on wargs." Maegwen grimaced and Lisswyn continued. "I do not know where, or how far. But he was with other riders…Maegwen, we must find them if we can. But it is dangerous to be outside the caves with the orcs around."

The other woman was nothing if not astute. "And you think to send my boys to look for the other riders." She frowned. "Why worry about that now? They may all be dead. Are probably assuming he is. If they're not, it's not going to make any difference whether we find them or not, if he doesn't survive."

"They will be looking for him, even if they think he is dead. And there might be one among them with more medical knowledge than I have." Lisswyn heard the desperation in her voice. "If they are out there, if there are any left alive, we must find them."

She hesitated, torn between knowing that the King's best chance might be in finding his men, if any had survived the attack, and in knowing she was asking her friend to risk the lives of her sons.

The King himself would probably want the boys to stay safe, in the cave. But she was bound, on every level, to do all she could do to help him.

"Maegwen…he is not just a rider. He is our King."

The other woman's mouth fell open. "Eomer-King? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I recognized him from the night the village was burned, and then he identified himself."

For a long moment, the other woman said nothing. Then she looked over at the prone form of the King, her expression a mixture of pity and fear, before turning toward the front of the caves. "I will let the boys decide." Though they both knew what choice the boys would make. They had watched their older brothers ride off to war, and been bitterly frustrated that they were too young to go. They would go off eagerly to see if they could find the King's men. And if anything happened to them, Lisswyn would spend the rest of her life feeling responsible.

She went back to Hilde, and could tell from the woman's expression that she had heard the conversation. Knew now whose life they were trying to save.

Lisswyn placed her hand over the bandages, then lifted them. Was it her imagination, or was the bleeding slowing? All she could do was hope. She slipped another clean, warm cloth on top of the wound, and replaced the bulk of the bandage.

She nodded for Hilde to resume pressure, then leaned over to pick up the arrow. She could not help but shudder as she held it. But she forced herself to examine the tip, relieved to find it appeared to be intact. None of it had broken off in the wound, then. But there was unusual coloring on it that did make her nervous. Poison?

Shaking her head, she wearily got to her feet. One thing at a time. She walked to the front of the caves, where she found the boys slipping into their cloaks. They looked at her expectantly. Serious, somber, but there was a hint of excitement there, too. They knew it wasn't a game, they'd known too many men who hadn't come back from the war for that. But they were young, and desperately wanted to be heroes.

She hoped they lived long enough to be thought so.

She studied them for a moment, wondered how to impress upon them that they shouldn't take foolish chances. "Go toward the hills, but be very careful. Listen and watch, and if you hear anything, hide… behind a rock, a tree, a bush, anything. And be very still. They're not looking for you, they might not notice." And perhaps the wargs would turn into harmless kittens, too. "Look for any sign of a battle. We found the King about a mile from here, so his men may be quite a bit further away than that. Go as far as you dare this afternoon, then find a place to spend the night. There are a few farms in that direction – they would most likely take you in, and you can ask if they've seen any riders." It would probably be all too obvious if the farmstead had encountered the orcs. "Start back here early in the morning."

"Shouldn't we keep looking?" The oldest boy, Eoden, wondered.

"No. Not until you come back and let us know what you've found. The following day, if necessary, you can go back out and go in another direction." Concerned that he not take matters into his own hands in terms of the search, she added, "The King may awaken by then, and be able to tell us better what direction to search. It would be foolish to risk your lives searching in the wrong place, would it not?"

He nodded, convinced, then hesitated. "Is he going to live, Lisswyn?"

She took a deep breath, pushed back the fear. "I don't know. But we will do all in our power to help him. My hope is that one of his riders is a more skilled healer than I, and that is why we must try to find them. But if we don't, or if they know no more than I, then we will still do our best and trust that it is enough."

He nodded, then looked at his mother for a long moment before turning and motioning his brother out of the cave. The younger boy hesitated for a moment, then followed.

Lisswyn stood, watched them go. She could feel Maegwen's silence behind her. The other woman had lost her husband and two oldest sons in the war, and Lisswyn again wondered if she'd had any right to ask her to risk these two as well.

She felt the other woman's hand settle on her shoulder. She turned, looked into the Maegwen's somber face.

"He must live, Lisswyn. Although the war in the south has been won, there is still much uncertainty. We can not afford to be without a strong king, or a period of wondering who will rule. And with the White Lady set to marry Faramir of Gondor…" her voice faded, and she was silent for a moment. "My boys will live," she added quietly. "And if they do not, that will not mean you were not right in asking them to go."

Lisswyn reached up and touched Maegwen's hand. Always, there was an assumption that it was the bravery of the men that won the wars. But the courage of a mother in sending her sons out to danger was no less remarkable.

She sighed, tired, and went to tend the king.

She found Hilde still sitting next to him, holding the cloth on the wound. The woman could be abrupt and unintentionally rude, but was an absolutely stalwart friend. Lisswyn stepped up, brushed his forehead. He felt warmer than he had before. "Has he spoken at all, Hilde?"

"No. He's moved about some, restless, but has not spoken."

Lisswyn nodded. "I'll need more hot water."

The other woman nodded, and slipped out. Lisswyn moved the bandages back and examined the wound. There was still a great deal of seepage, but the bleeding had slowed. That was good. But if his bleeding to death was no longer a concern, infection and poison, however, still were.

She looked up as Maegwen came in. "I'm going to try to slip him out of his mail. It will make tending his wound easier."

"And be more comfortable when he awakes, as well, I'd think."

_If he awakes…please let him awaken._

They had to roll him to get the mail off, risking that the wound would begin to bleed again. But the risk seemed worth it if it meant easier access to the wound.

Removal of his undershirt was easier. She cut it off, grateful for more material to use as bandages. The soft material would be better on the wound than her wool dress, anyway. And she'd still need the wool for other tasks.

Hilde returned with the water, and she crumbled some of the herbs into it. Then she eased the bandage back and discovered that although the wound was bleeding again from where they'd moved him, it was not as bad as she had feared it would be.

She dipped cloth in the water and began to clean the wound, as gently as possible.

Although she said nothing to the other women, she did not like the sight of the wound. The bleeding had stopped, yes, but the wound looked too dark, too angry and swollen, for even this kind of injury.

It could be a straightforward infection, in which case there was still hope that the healing herbs she had could counter it. But if the arrow had been poisoned, as was her fear…

As her mother had explained it, there were two kinds of poisons – simple and complex. Simple was made from plants, and could be countered. Not easily, but it could be done. It would be a matter of finding the right antidote, and using it before he succumbed.

But a complex poison, one that had been made by the dark powers…the only antidote to those poisons was the healing touch of someone from elvish or Numenorean descent. And although she did not doubt that the new King of Gondor would come to heal the King of Rohan should the arrow prove to have been poisoned by the dark powers, she had no way of calling him. Even the fleetest steed would never make it to Minas Tirith in time.

So she held on to the hope that, at worst, this was simple poison. Saruman was gone, the Dark Lord of Mordor was defeated. And there was no one else left who could have been responsible for such complex poison. But what if the arrow was leftover from Saruman's dark betrayals?

Then she would watch him die. Another stray tear leaked down her cheek, and she didn't bother wiping it away.

The wound was finally as clean as she could make it. She packed it with more of one of the healing herbs, one her mother had used to prevent infection, and laid a clean bandage on it.

"Lisswyn?" She looked up, and saw Hilde in the narrow entrance to the next cave. "The other women have gone to their beds. Brynwyn is with Maegwen. I was just heading to my own rest…do you need anything else?"

Lisswyn managed a half-smile of gratitude for the other woman. "No. I will be fine."

"You should get some rest, if you can."

She shook her head. "I will be fine," she repeated. "There will be time to sleep later." She couldn't articulate a fear that if she slept, she would awaken to find the King dead.

Hilde nodded, understanding. "You will call me if you need anything?"

"I will. Thank you." She watched the older woman leave, then turned back to the King.

This time, she reached for the cooler water, and wetting a cloth, began wiping his face in an attempt to cool him.

He had such a strong face. Broad forehead, strong jaw. He was so obviously a warrior. She wiped the cloth over his brow, then down, across his cheeks, through his beard. Then back, once more. It was his eyes, now closed in fitful sleep, that told the rest of the story – that behind the warrior was a man of compassion. A man who would take the time to comfort and encourage a small, frightened girl.

Lisswyn dipped the cloth again, and this time wiped his throat, then down onto his chest. He was so strong, so muscular. And his chest was so broad! He had seemed big to her, but she'd assumed some of that was the armor. That did not appear to be the case. She moved the damp cloth through the light colored chest hair, and was amazed at how soft it seemed. She'd expected it to feel stiffer, more wiry.

She wet the cloth once more, and returned to his face, then noticed his mouth. She remembered her mother warning that a high fever needed to be cooled with liquid inside as well, if possible. But how to get him to drink when he was not awake?

She took another strip of clean cloth and dipped it into the bowl. Then, holding it above his lips, squeezed. Hopefully, it was not enough for him to choke on, but would at least get some moisture into him.

It went in, and he didn't seem to be choking, so a moment later she tried again. And then again, waiting between each bit.

And was finally rewarded when she saw his throat move. He had swallowed! That was surely a good sign.

Then she noticed his lips. Full lips, but dry and parched. She wet the cloth again, but instead of immediately dribbling the water into him, she touched it to his mouth. And again.

And found herself wondering what it would be like to have those lips pressed against hers. Knowing she had no business thinking such thoughts, she banished them before gently touching the cloth against his dried lips again.

She was long past the usual age of marriage, but due to the circumstances of her life and the village, had never had a chance at a relationship with a man her age. Had long since accepted it would never be, had determined upon the death of her father that her role would be to raise Brynwyn.

There had once been a time when she'd dreamed dreams of a wonderful young man riding into the village and courting her. But even then she wasn't sure she'd really been able to imagine what it would be like to be held and kissed.

Lisswyn dabbed at his lips again. And felt them move. Startled, she looked down, and saw his eyes were open. She felt a crimson blush of embarrassment crawling up her face, that he had awakened to find her touching him in such an intimate fashion. Or perhaps the blush was due to her thoughts.

"Sire?"

His eyes drifted close, then opened again. He muttered something, but it was hard for her to identify the words. Then they came clear. "Orcs. Wargs."

Ah. Delusional then. The part of her ashamed at how she'd been touching his lips was nearly relieved. "The orcs are gone, my Lord."

"On wargs."

"I know."

"How many?"

It seemed an effort for him to get the words out, so she dribbled a little more water into his mouth. "I do not know. You did not tell me." She knew he wasn't really aware of her, was merely speaking out of the fever-induced delirium. But perhaps on some level it mattered to him that a voice respond.

He moved restlessly, then tried again. "How many of you…in the caves?"

Lisswyn froze. He wasn't delusional. He knew where they were. She had to clear her throat as her embarrassment returned. "Sixteen, my Lord."

His eyes drifted close, and for a long moment, she thought he'd gone back to sleep.

"How many men?" He murmured the words, and she had to lean forward to hear them.

"None, sire. We are all women and children." She was confused by the question. But perhaps he hoped there were men who could be sent out against the orcs? If so, it was a false hope. The village had had few men before the wildmen burned it. Then most of those had gone to the war, and only two had returned, both gravely injured.

His eyes closed again, then slowly opened. He shifted restlessly. "Help me up."

Her eyes widened. "Sire, no…you are gravely injured."

He shifted again, and she realized he was actually trying to sit up. Not successfully, but the effort was there. She rested her hand on his chest, acutely aware that it was bare and he was awake, and gently pushed him back down.

"Orcs." His head rolled to the side, then back, as if with great effort. "Must be ready…where is my sword?" His voice faded, then came back. "…women and children..."

His eyes closed, as if the exertion of moving and speaking had finally sapped his strength, and Lisswyn again felt tears come to her eyes. He was feverish and in what must be agonizing pain, and yet he was worried about them.

She dipped her cloth into the water and once again wiped his face with it. The tears ran down her cheeks, and she made no effort to halt them.

The night passed slowly. She alternated between bathing him with the cool water, and in dribbling it into his mouth. But the fever was increasing, and if she was accomplishing anything, it was only to slow its rise.

Toward morning, she checked the wound, and frowned. It was still so dark and swollen, and a strange puffiness surrounded it, well out onto his shoulder, and down his arm.

Infected, or poisoned? Not for the first time, she wished desperately for her mother.

Wished she'd paid more attention to her mother's teachings on injuries and illness. If it was infected, all she could do was to keep the wound clean, pack it with the anti-infection plant, and try to keep him cool. If it was poison, she needed to find the antidote.

Fortunately, there were only two primary poisons used by orcs and their kinds, and an antidote for both grew near the caves. But neither would be easy to find. From one of them, she would need the flower, and it was nearly past its flowering time. And the other one grew between crevices in rocks.

If it was poison, she could delay no longer. As soon as it was full light out, she would need to leave to see if she could find the plants, and take her chances with the orcs. But then that meant she would not be here, would not be with him. And if it was merely an infection – as if such an infection could be simple – then she would be leaving him for nothing.

But if she didn't go, and it was poison, he would surely die.

That simplified the question. If it was only an infection, he would not necessarily be harmed by her leaving him in the care of Maegwen and Hilde and going out hunting for the plants. But if it was poison, and she didn't go…

If only she knew better how to tell the difference between infection and poison. It seemed desperately unfair that he was suffering so because as a young girl she had not paid adequate attention to her mother's attempts to pass on her training as a healer.

Waiting for dawn, she wiped him down with cool water again, and gave him as much water to drink as she dared.

* * *

"How is he?" Maegwen slipped quietly into the room.

"Unchanged, though he was conscious part of the night." Lisswyn paused, still moved by the exchange, the looked up at the other woman. "He worries for us, here in the caves." Glancing back down, she added, "as ill as he is, he frets that he can do nothing to protect us from the orcs."

Maegwen said nothing for a long moment. "He is a good man, and a good king."

Lisswyn looked up. "Maegwen, I believe the arrow may have been poisoned."

"I feared it was so. You looked very grave when you examined it."

"I must go further up into the hills, to see if I can find some of the plants that can counter the poisons."

The older woman nodded, accepting necessity for what it was. "What do you need for me to do?"

Lisswyn showed her how to give him water to drink, then stood. "I will check on Brynwyn, then be on my way. The sooner I go, the sooner my return."

"You will take the wildmen's sword?"

She shook her head. "No. It is too bulky and would slow me down. And you might need it here should the orcs find the caves."

Maegwen frowned. "That will leave you with no protection at all."

"I will take my hunting knife. I will have need of it for digging out the plants, anyway." Seeing the worry on her friend's face, she said more gently, "Maegwen, I do not really know how to use the weapon. I am not an swordwoman, and might do more damage than good with it. And it would be in my way."

She watched Maegwen slowly nod, then with a final glance at the King, she left the room.

Lisswyn found Brynwyn awake. She moved into the room, settled on the bedding next to the little girl.

"How fares the King?" Her voice was anxious.

"He is…unchanged." Lisswyn hesitated. "But I need more healing herbs." No need to mention the possibility of poison.

Brynwyn stared at her for a long moment in the dim candlelight, then nodded. "What of the orcs?"

"We do not know for sure they are still near. And I will be quiet and careful. But I must go."

She held out her arms, and Brynwyn moved into them, snuggled her head onto Lisswyn's shoulder. "I'm afraid."

"I know you are." She tilted the little girl's face up. "But I will be fine." She gently brushed the blond curls out of the way. "And if I am not, Maegwen will care for you." Brynwyn swallowed, nodded.

"I would ask you a favor, though."

"What?"

"The King does not know Maegwen. He woke during the night, and I would not have him awaken again and find only strange faces. I would like for you to go help her. Sit with him. Be there if he wakes."

Brynwyn nodded eagerly, and Lisswyn knew it had been the right course to take. It gave the little girl something to do, would distract her until Lisswyn could return.

She stood, pulled back the covers, helped her sister up.

"I will leave as soon as I have fetched my cloak and pouch. I will return as soon as I am able." She touched Brynwyn's cheek. "Take care of him while I am away."

* * *

_A/N3: There's one more chapter after this one that's mostly OC interaction, due to the King's incapacitation, then he'll be awake and we'll be in his point of view some. _

_A/N4: Wondereye asked about names. Tolkien based the Rohirric language on Old English and Anglo/Saxon, so I did a search for those kinds of names. Some were too modern, but many seemed to fit with the ones Tolkien used. I even found 'Eomer' on one of the lists._


	4. Hunting for the Healing Plants

_A/N: Generally, I'll probably only manage to post one chapter a week or so, but since much of chapter three is OC (though necessary in my opinion if the OCs are to be as complex and genuine as I'm aiming for), I wanted to give you chapter four at the same time, which includes more Eomer._

* * *

Lisswyn paused outside the entrance to the caves and listened. The sun was just rising in the east, and all she could hear were the morning calls of the birds in the trees. Moving as quietly as possible, she turned and started up the path that led above the cliffs. For much of her life, the sun's rising had signaled safety from orcs, who would not be out in the daylight. Saruman had changed that, and she kept to the shelter of the short, stubby trees as much as the path allowed, pausing frequently to listen for the hideous snarling noise that was all too often the last sound a warg's victim heard. And she kept her knife out, loose in her hand. 

At the top of the path, she would have to leave the shelter of the trees, but would have the advantage of height. She would be able to see for a long distance.

The flowering plant, if any _did _still flower, would be found there -- in the shelter of the scrub trees that grew on the tops of the cliffs. The other herb would be even higher, out of the safety of the trees, growing in the crevices of the rocks. For most, they were only weeds. But if the poison on the arrow was the numbing poison, the plants would save the King's life.

* * *

Maegwen wiped the King's brow again as he shifted restlessly. The time felt as if it were passing slowly, but unless she walked out to the front of the cave, she could not guess the hour of the day, nor how long Lisswyn had been gone. Could not begin to look for her boys' return. 

The King had not been conscious, though he continued to murmur occasionally.

She was now convinced that Lisswyn was correct, and the arrow had been poisoned. Despite the fever burning in him, his left arm was cold to the touch, with the coldness gradually creeping down his chest and toward his throat. If he had been awake, he would have told her that the wound no longer pained him – that where there had been agony, now there was only numbness. And the numbness would spread, eventually stealing his life. So she did what she could to keep the arm and shoulder warm, while continuing to try and cool his fever.

"Brynwyn." The little girl looked up at her, eyes wide. She had been the one to initially notice the coldness of his arm. Maegwen had not told her he was poisoned. She had not had to. "I must go after more cool water. Come sit here, so he will see you should he wake."

She moved to the spot Maegwen vacated.

"Have you been watching me wipe his face with the cloths?" At the little girl's nod, she motioned towards the bowl of water. "Continue until I return."

For all the good it was doing, she added silently as she turned and headed toward the back of the caves. One of the back rooms had a small source of very cold water in it. It barely trickled, and as such they seldom used it – getting a sufficient amount to drink was too much effort. But it was cold enough that even a little of it might be more effective in cooling his fever.

* * *

He was burning, from the inside out. But where there had been pain, excruciating pain, there was now nothing. No sensation at all. He tried to focus, to remember where he was, but the images wouldn't form. Someone was taking care of him. A soft voice, answering him out of the darkness. Eowyn? No, several different voices. And none of them belonged to his sister. 

He felt a cloth wipe across his face again, and registered that it seemed less sure of itself than it had the last time he had come close to surfacing. Clumsy. He struggled, and forced his eyes to open. Candlelight. Uneven walls. And a little girl sitting next to him, who appeared startled when he opened his eyes. He knew her name. What was it? Ah. "Brynwyn."

She'd stopped wiping his face as if she wasn't sure she should continue. He appreciated the fact that she was trying to care for him, but why had they left him alone with her? Where was her sister?

Hesitantly, she dipped the cloth into the water and once again wiped his face with it, apparently not noticing when water dribbled into his eyes.

Instinctively, he tried to move his hand to brush the water away. And discovered that though he was too weak to move his right arm, he could not feel his left. Panic gave him the ability to raise his head just enough that he could look down, and relief added to the dizziness he felt. It was still there. He dropped back on the furs, felt the room spin. Fought it. He could not slip back into unconsciousness.

Brynwyn looked uncertain by his movement, and he again wondered where the adults were.

It was so hard to get the words out, to get them to form. "…sister?" It came out on a gasp. He tried again. "Where is your sister?" He managed to focus on her, noted she looked scared. Much more so than when he'd startled her with his first words.

"She has gone up to the cliffs."

He frowned, struggled to concentrate, to make sense of the words. The effort it took angered him, and he sounded harsher than he intended. "Why?"

She flinched, and he closed his eyes, summoned the strength to give her the patience she needed.

"Why …did she … go out?"

"She needs more healing plants."

He felt himself slipping back towards that black void, and fought it. "She should not… have done that," he murmured.

"You must get well." She stated it as a simple truth. "Lisswyn needs more medicine to help you."

Lisswyn. It had not occurred to him before that he did not know her sister's name. It felt wrong, somehow, that despite his injuries he had not asked.

"She told me she would be careful." Her voice had gone quieter, the fear more apparent. "She told me she would return." She reached out and wiped his face again, and he felt her small hand tremble. "She told me Maegwen would take care of me if she does not."

He damned himself that he could do nothing to ease her fear. The dark was closing in again, and he could no longer fight it off. "She is very brave," was all the encouragement he could think of as the cave and frightened little girl faded.

* * *

Lisswyn paused in front of a large boulder that was blocking the path. She had come up here often during the first few weeks they'd lived in the caves, trying to get a better sense of their situation. But it had been several months since she'd made the journey to the top, and she was finding it much harder going than she remembered. 

Muttering something she would not have wanted Brynwyn to overhear, she climbed up and over the large rock, wincing as a jagged edge dug into her palm. Her arms were scratched and bleeding, something else she didn't remember from her casual spring climbs. But back then she had not been rushing, convinced that a man's life, the King's life, depended on her speed. She turned a sharp corner in the path, and realized she was at the top.

She paused for a moment, listening. It was quiet, but the birds were continuing to sing, undisturbed. She turned off the path into the bushes, and began searching for the flowering plant.

It took longer than she had hoped, but she finally found a patch of the little yellow flower. And as she had feared, there were very few flowers still open. She harvested what she could, then moved back out to the path, continued up a little farther, until she reached the edge of the trees.

When they gave way to rocks, she paused, listened. This was where she would be most vulnerable, visible for miles around should anyone care to look. But she heard nothing out of the ordinary, and after a moment, started forward again.

At this point there was no path, and she scrambled around on the rocks, trying not to look over the edge of the cliffs while she searched for the plant that grew in the crevices.

As with the flowering plant, it took much longer than she'd anticipated. She found what she was looking for, but there was so little of it, and it seemed she had to dig forever for very small amounts. And perhaps worst of all, she didn't know how much she would need. She could stay up here until she'd harvested all that was available, only to find the King dead when she returned to the caves. Or she could take what she had now, and discover it wasn't enough to kill the poison. Again, she cursed herself for not paying more attention to her mother's lectures.

Intent on digging out one of the larger specimens, she didn't notice the stillness at first. It was only when the roots came free that she felt a prickle on the back of her neck.

Bringing the knife up, she looked anxiously around her, but she saw nothing. Heard nothing – which was the problem. The birds had gone quiet. They feared the orcs and were often the best warning available.

And then she heard the sound she had been dreading. The snarls of wargs, the squeals of orcs.

It was not near her. She registered that with a nearly sick sense of relief. Not on the cliffs. But if she could hear them, they were far too close. She stuffed the plant into her pouch, and crept forward, peered down between two rocks.

And despite her position of relative safety, her stomach jumped. The orcs were below her, fighting amongst themselves while the wargs fought over the body of one of the orcs already dead. She shuddered.

Easing back, she looked around. The orcs were at the bottom of the cliffs, in an area where the ground cut back sharply, providing a protected area. She was quite high up, and probably not at great risk of being detected, particularly if they were distracted by their feuding. But she would have to be careful.

She glanced around, glanced down to the left of where the orcs were. And knew a moment of sheer terror as she saw Maegwen's boys, still quite a ways away, but creeping toward the orcs and wargs.

It was clear that for whatever reason, they could not yet hear the snarls and screeches.

She could not risk them getting any closer.

She moved back, relied on rocks to hide her. Not as good as trees, but at least it was better than being out in the open. Crouching, but going as quickly as she dared, she ran along the top of the cliffs toward the boys. She had to warn them.

If she remembered correctly, there was another path down to the valley floor, or what might serve as one, near by. If she could find it, and if she could make her way down it, she might intercept the boys before they got too close to the orcs. As plans went, it was much too uncertain and contingent on too many ifs and mights to be reassuring. But it was all she could come up with.

She found the trail, and her heart sank. On a warm spring day with nothing more to do than go for a ramble, she might enjoy the challenge of figuring out how to pick her way to the bottom. But when speed was essential, this path was going to be a nightmare to navigate. It was rocky, with large boulders to maneuver around, and smaller rocks it would be all too easy to trip over while in a hurry. They all looked as sharp as knives.

And all the while, she'd be visible to anyone who happened to look up. No, this was not going to be easy.

She started down, and to her relief, was able to move quickly at first. It almost seemed as if someone had deliberately created a path. Then she reached a point where the trail simply vanished, and she spent precious minutes trying to find the best way down. But there was a line of large boulders she could not go over or around.

Eventually, she settled for climbing on top of the smallest one, then jumping down to the largest rock below. If she missed, it seemed likely she'd be impaled on one of the jagged rocks next to the one she was aiming for.

She didn't miss, but as she landed she looked back up in despair, knowing that if she succeeded in intercepting the boys, they were going to have to go back up this way as well. She could only hope that in the return climb, they would find unexpected toe-holds to help them.

The next section was more even, and she was able to move at a fairly fast pace. Slipping through a narrow opening between two large boulders, she looked down and discovered the angle gave her a view of the boys. They were much closer to the bottom of the path than she had thought they would be. She had spent too much time trying to figure out a way past the boulders above her. If she was not to miss them, she would have to go faster.

She began taking chances she had been reluctant to take when closer to the top, jumping a few feet when she would normally have been more cautious about finding a way to climb down. And at first was gratified to discover it was possible to move with more speed through the rocks.

She went around another sharp turn and realized she was nearly at the bottom, and a quick view to the left showed that the boys had not passed this point yet. She would intercept them and all three of them could start back up, safely above the orcs. She turned once more to the path.

And then her foot slipped.

What she had believed to be a large rock imbedded in the side of the hill turned out to be a much smaller stone resting on pebbles. As she began to slide, she grabbed whatever she could to hold onto. Mindful of the orcs, she suppressed a cry of pain as she felt a sharp rock tear into the skin along the underside of her left arm even while smaller rocks were scraping up the right side of her body.

It seemed as if she was sliding and falling forever, but she finally landed with enough force to knock the wind out of her. Small stones and pebbles dislodged by her fall continued to pelt over her on their way to the bottom, and one hit the side of her head, just above her ear, with enough force to make her glad that it seemed to be only small stones that were still in movement.

She could not catch her breath, was afraid to try very hard. How much noise had her tumble caused? It had felt loud to her…would the orcs have heard it? Their hearing was acute, but if they were still engaged in their own feud, they might not have noticed. She could only pray.

In a moment, she would have to try and stand, to get the rest of the way down to where the boys would be. She was afraid to think about what would happen if she couldn't stand, if she had really injured herself. Cautiously, she tried to take an inventory. She could still feel all of her limbs, and though there was pain, slow movement did not result in the sharp agony she would have associated with broken bones.

Slowly, she forced herself to sit up, and winced as a thousand bruises made themselves known. Knowing she was fortunate to have broken no bones did not alleviate the pain of abused muscles and skin complaining about their rough treatment. She bowed her head for a moment, discovered it was not altogether easy to breath. Bruised ribs, perhaps. Her arms were a mess. The right one was bruised and scratched from wrist to shoulder, scraped nearly raw in places. And the left had a nasty looking but shallow cut alongside the bottom, near her elbow. It was not bleeding much, and that was a relief. The wargs could smell blood.

Then, through the fog of pain and weariness, she wondered just how much time she had spent trying to get to the bottom of the hill. With a surge of fear, she realized she had not even considered the King when she started down to intercept the boys. Would this delay cost him his life?

Full of grief and guilt, she forced herself to her feet, breathed as deeply as her ribs would allow and waited for the world to stop spinning around her.

In one sense, it didn't matter. Not even for the King could she have let the boys walk into a nest of orcs and wargs. It had been one thing to send them out knowing they might die. To have watched them do so…no. There had been no other choice, even for the King. If he died, she would pay the price every day for the rest of her life. But she could not have chosen differently. Could not have gone back to the caves knowing she was leaving the boys to walk directly into the path of the orcs. Could not have faced Maegwen. But it shamed her that she had not at least considered the King. However unfortunate for him, he was in her charge, her care. And she owed him, owed the Riddermark, more than to simply forget him when faced by a new crisis.

She could only pray, could only beg, that he would live.

Lisswyn looked up, and saw the boys coming toward her. She was still a few feet above them, so they did not yet see her. She was gratified that they seemed to be trying to be cautious, stopping every few feet to listen and look around. And she realized that for whatever reason, something about this area seemed to block sounds. She could no longer hear the orcs, which could also mean they had moved on. Regardless, there was hope that they had not heard the noise from her fall.

She put out a hand to steady herself, and started down the path, wincing. It was time to get back to the King. If there were still a King to return to.

Lisswyn was waiting when the boys crept around a boulder immediately to the left of the bottom of the path. They stopped, startled, and she saw Eoden's eyes go flat.

"You did not need to come after us. We have seen neither orcs nor the King's men." At this confession, his shoulders slumped.

Was there anything more volatile than a boy's pride? Putting a finger to her lips to indicate the need for quiet, she softly said, "I did not come after you. I am in search of healing plants to counter a poison that runs through the King's veins." Both boys looked startled, and Eoden looked ashamed.

She continued, still as quietly as possible. "But I have also seen the orcs." Afraid Eoden would unintentionally speak louder than was wise, she covered his mouth with her hand as she explained what she had seen.

Both boys looked up at the hill, and their eyes widened. For the first time, Eoden seemed to take in her appearance.

He pulled back from her hand, but kept his voice quiet. "You are injured."

She shook her head. "Nothing but scratches." _And bruised ribs, and a head that ached like a troll was squeezing it._ "I will be fine. And going up will be easier than coming down. But we must go, and go quietly."

Glancing up at the hill, she added, "I will go first because I have been on the path." She turned, addressed the younger of the two brothers. Solemn, serious, he seldom spoke. "Andric, you come next," her gaze moved to Eoden, "and you follow."

They nodded, and she turned back to the hill, and wishing she could get just one deep breath, started back up the path.

It was easier than coming down, because it was easier to plan where to step, where to grab for handholds. But it took much longer than coming down had, and with every step, she fretted about the amount of time she had been a way from the King. The sun was high in the sky now, and her fear grew that he had not survived the morning. Or that she would arrive back in the cave to discover he still lived, but had slipped into a sleep from which he would never wake.

* * *

Maegwen wiped the King down again with the cold water. It seemed to be helping, and she regretted that they had not thought of it earlier. Or perhaps it was not that the colder water was making a difference to the fever. Maybe the poison was simply spreading. 

Brynwyn had reported his comments while she had been out of the room, but he had not been completely awake since then, though he occasionally still muttered and murmured. Twice she had caught him calling for his sister. All of the Riddermark knew of the bond between them, and she grieved for him, that the Lady Eowyn was now so far away, unknowing of his need for her.

She dipped the cloth in the water and started the circle – brow, face, throat, chest – again. And tried not to think about how long Lisswyn had been gone. Or to wonder where her boys were, and if they still lived.

* * *

Lisswyn collapsed when they made it to the top of the path. They were sheltered by some of the big boulders, but even if they were not, she needed a few moments to rest. The climb uphill had taxed her aching body more than she would have believed possible. 

"Lisswyn?" Eoden's voice was full of anxiety.

"I am fine, Eoden. I just need to catch my breath." The words did not seem to reassure him as much as she had hoped, and with effort, she pulled herself up. She really could not afford the time anyway. Or at least the King could not. "You go ahead, but be quiet, and be careful. There is danger of being seen until we are in the trees."

He planted his feet. "We will not leave you."

Oh, yes. Rohirrim male.

She nodded, and they began to pick their way toward the trees. Lisswyn wasn't sure how or when it had happened, but found she was no longer in charge. Eoden walked a few feet ahead, looking cautiously around them, while Andric walked next to her, or behind her if the path became too narrow.

They got the place where she had first seen the orcs, and they took time to peer over the edge.

They saw many bodies of both orcs and wargs, but the orcs themselves had moved on. It startled her to see just how many carcasses there were. She hadn't paid much attention to the numbers when she'd first seen them, but now it was hard to miss. She didn't know how many men the King had had with him, but they had been up against a formidable enemy.

She motioned them back, toward the trees.

They did not pause again. Her fear for the King was growing, as was uneasiness about where the orcs might have gone. She wanted to get the boys safely back to the caves.

The sun was well in the west when the path curved around to the entrance to the cave. Lisswyn did pause then, to look down the path below the caves. To listen. To her relief, she heard nothing out of the ordinary.

They entered the cave to find two of the younger children sitting on the floor, next to the King's horse. The boys both stopped to greet the horse, and Lisswyn shook her head as she continued to the back room. Greeting the horse before their mother. Oh, yes. Definitely Rohirrim males.

"Lisswyn!" Brynwyn launched herself at her, and Lisswyn managed not to cry out in pain as her sister's body met hers.

Maegwen came to her more slowly. "You're injured."

Lisswyn shook her head. "Just scraped up. I took a shortcut." She glanced up, saw the worry in the other woman's eyes. "I'll be fine." Then she smiled. It was nice to have some good news to impart. "The boys are with me. They're in the outer cave." She saw relief pass over the other's woman's face.

"How is the King?"

"Not well. It has been some time since he spoke."

Lisswyn nodded. "I am going to wash my hands, then will see what I can do for him."

She washed more than just her hands, taking the time to wash the cut on her arm. She would be ineffective as a healer if she developed an infection herself. Hilde entered while she was doing so and quietly laid one of her own loose-fitting dresses next to Lisswyn. Lisswyn eased into the older dress, grateful for its clean softness on her abused skin. If she ever acquired a spinning wheel and loom, she would repay her friend with something particularly lovely and in the brighter colors Hilde favored.


	5. Hurting

Lisswyn returned to the King, eased down next to him. Next to her sat bowls of water, both heated and cool. One of the bowls of hot water held some of the plants she had harvested. She had left them steeping even before she had gone to clean up.

She touched the King's face. Maegwen was correct. He did not seem to be as warm, but she was not sure that was a good thing. She felt his arm, frightened by how rigid and cold it felt. Traced the coldness back to his chest, up his throat.

There was no more time.

But now came the task she had been dreading. Standing on feet that weren't as steady as she might have wished, she took her knife over to fire. Wiped it as clean as she could, then thrust it into the fire. When it glowed red, she judged it to be as clean as fire could make it.

Returning to the King, she examined his shoulder again. The wound had scabbed over. It would have to be reopened in order to the get the healing plant into him.

Gritting her teeth, as it seemed what she was doing was so wrong, she sliced the scab away. Sliced deep into the muscle. Then she picked up two of the wet leaves -- one from each plant -- twisted them together, and tucked tucked them into the wound.

Knowing that the poison was spreading, she made another slice in his arm a few inches below the wound, and packed it with more of the herbs. And again, down closer to his elbow. Everything in her cried out as she sliced into areas that weren't injured. It was wrong. It had to be. But this was one bit of lecture she remembered from her mother. It was essential to get as much of the medicine in him as possible, and there was no time to be subtle.

She made two more shallow cuts, one just below the wound rather than on his arm, and one on the other side of it. The poison was spreading, and bringing his arm back would do no good if the poison reached his heart.

Taking another clean cloth, she dipped it in the hot water, then packed it around his arm. And covered that with yet another cloth, one that was dry. The arm needed to be as warm as possible.

Next, she cooled some of the water the herbs had been steeping in by mixing it with the cold, then began dribbling it into his mouth. Watched him swallow several times.

Then she sat back, and waited.

If she were in time, he would become more active. More restless. The arm would begin to warm, starting at the top, near the wound.

Then would come the worst part of all.

The arm was in effect, dying. The healing plants could reverse that, but in some manner she did not understand, it was excruciatingly painful when the arm began coming back.

She remembered her mother's tears as she recounted men describing it as worse than fire, that the pain could not have been worse if they had been holding their limb in the fire. As a young girl, she had experienced a sort of horrified fascination with the tale of men who had taken their own sword and attempted to cut off limbs that were being brought back from the numbing poison.

It was supposed to be one of the worst pains known to man, and she had just condemned the King to suffer through it. And even then, even if the healing herb worked, there was no guarantee he would have full use of the arm.

He was beginning to move restlessly and occasional soft groans were escaping from his lips.

Lisswyn leaned over and wiped his forehead again, more to have something to do than anything else. The waiting was hard. She had some herbs that could provide limited ease from pain, but they wouldn't be effective – and could possibly be counter-productive – now.

Grimly, she carefully pulled back the cloths packed around his arm, moved the wet ones.

It was discolored, red in places, white in others, with darker patches appearing here and there. She had no idea if it were normal for it to do so. It looked rather frightening. She touched the area just below the wound, and relief surged through her. It was no longer as cold. The arm was beginning to come back.

"Lisswyn!" She looked up to see Eoden coming into the room, an alarmed look on his face. "The orcs are below the cave."

Her stomach shifted, knotted with fear. They had so few options to protect themselves. She looked over at the King, still sleeping fitfully.

Getting to her feet as quickly as she could, she moved towards the boy. "Show me where they are."

The front cave was crowded. Several of the women and most of the children were huddled there, apparently listening. Impatient with them, she shook her head. They should know better. All it would take would be for one of the little ones to cry out and their hiding place would be known to the orcs.

She moved through them, murmuring reassurances and asking some of them to take the children to the furthermost cave.

Finally, it was just her, the boys, and Maegwen.

"Maegwen, go make sure the fire burns hot, and prepare the wood." If the orcs came into the caves, they would try to defend themselves with fire. It was not much of a defense against arrows and swords, but it was all they had.

Maegwen nodded and left, and Lisswyn laid down on the floor of the cave, motioned Eoden to join her. Andric was stroking Firefoot, apparently in an effort to keep the King's horse quiet. She left him to it.

Quietly, she and Eoden crawled to the lip of the cave, looked over. Through the scrub trees, she could hear ugly cry of the orcs, the snarls of the wargs. They were circling around at the base of the cliffs, but were not yet on the path up.

What were they waiting for? Had they perhaps not spied the path, and it was just misfortune they lingered so near the trail? She closed her eyes, tried to concentrate. Orcs seldom spoke in the language of men, choosing rather to use their own foul speech. And the distance between the cave entrance and the bottom of the trail made it harder to hear.

But she desperately wanted to know what they were saying. Wanted to know how much danger she and the others were in.

She considered trying to slip down the path, decided against it. She was needed here, and if the orcs were going to attack them, knowing about it a few moments earlier wouldn't make any difference. And there was a greater chance of her being seen if she left the relative safety of the caves.

Then she clearly heard one voice, was able to understand one phrase. And felt her blood go cold. Eoden stiffened next to her, and she knew he had heard it, too. "_…Rohan king_."

She motioned to Eoden to be silent, and crawled back, away from the edge. Into the next cave. Aware of how sound would carry, she kept her voice quiet, even then. "They are looking for him."

Eoden nodded. He had figured that out as well.

"I do not believe they know we are here. They certainly do not know he is with us, or they would already have attacked." He looked less sure of this, and Lisswyn wondered if he were right, if she was just offering false assurances.

"I must return to the King. Keep watch." She looked back into the front cave. "Try to keep the horse quiet." She turned back to Eoden. "But if they start up the path, send Andric back to warn us. We will need a moment or two to arm ourselves with the fire brands."

He nodded, and Lisswyn returned to the king.

His movements were increasingly restless. She checked his arm again, touched his hand. He jerked at her light touch, and she grimaced. The extreme sensitivity would soon turn to pain.

He shifted again, and she looked up to find him watching her.

"My arm." He struggled to get the words out.

"The arrow was poisoned, my Lord. With the numbing poison."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gave a slight nod.

"My lord…" she needed to warn him, but could not find the words. "Your arm will soon become quite …painful."

His voice was rough, and still weak when he spoke again. "I am familiar with the poison." He closed his eyes again. "…and with the treatment."

She frowned. Had he been poisoned himself? Or watched one of his men suffer through it? Either was possible. Worried, she tried to remember if her mother had mentioned cumulative effects. If his body was familiar with the poison, would it be better or worse for him?

She looked at him again. His face was flushed, his jaw tight. The pain was increasing. Then she remembered her mother describing the agonized screams of men during the treatment, and a new fear came to her. She leaned over him.

"Sire…can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes, looked at her impatiently. Gave a slow nod.

"The orcs are right below the entrance to the caves." That got his attention. He glanced around the cave, as if trying to think of some way they could protect themselves. "My Lord…" She hesitated again, and he returned his gaze to her.

How to say what had to be said without insulting him? She finally opted to simply blurt the words out. "If you are familiar with the poison, you know how bad it is going to be. But you must not cry out or make any noise." She faltered. Such a ridiculous thing to have to say. But her mother's stories scared her. "Sound travels."

She watched various emotions pass across his face: insult, acceptance, weariness.

Then he spoke, his voice so soft and weak it was hard for her to hear. "Place a piece of cloth in my mouth, place something else in my good hand. I need to be able to grip something."

The effort to speak seemed to have worn him completely out, and he closed his eyes.

Lisswyn did as he asked, inserting a clean piece of cloth into his mouth. He bit into it. Then she placed another wad of cloth into his right hand, closed his fingers around it. He gave a brief nod of thanks.

She sat back again, listened. The caves were silent.

Long moments passed, and he shifted again. The pain was growing worse. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the rigid way he held himself, as if trying to ward off the pain.

She bowed her head for a moment, weary herself. Why did the orcs have to pick now to pause outside the caves?

He moved and she looked up. His eyes were open, and there was a wildness there that unnerved her. He was clenching his teeth on the cloth so hard she could see the veins that ran beneath the skin near his eyes. A sound, a quiet moan escaped him despite his efforts. He turned his head away, as if shamed by the weakness, and she saw the muscles in his good arm clenching with effort.

Sweat popped out on his forehead, and she wondered if it was due to the stress, the fever finally breaking, or something else. Was it good or bad?

He looked at her again, and then he closed his eyes. Seemed to bear down, as if trying to silently ride a particularly bad wave of pain. Another quiet noise escaped, and he moved his head again, as if fighting it.

Then she saw it. A single tear sliding out of his eye. He was weeping from the pain, and for just a moment, her heart stopped, then simply shattered. Eorlingas men were not afraid to cry over the loss of a loved one. They saw nothing shameful in the shedding of tears over the death of a fellow rider. Even a beloved horse. But they did not cry in response to physical pain.

He turned his head again, away from her, and she wondered if she should leave him. If shame at what he must perceive a weakness was making this unendurable process even worse for him.

The noise came again, seemed to be ripped from his throat despite all his efforts to be silent. It was a little louder than before, and she saw him jerk in knowledge of that. Saw him clench his jaw harder, something she would not have thought possible. Another tear leaked out.

How long could it go on? She had no memory of her mother telling her long it took for the limb to come back. Would he eventually pass out from the pain? She could only hope so.

Was it possible to die from pain?

He was looking at her again, a desperate look in his eyes, as if he was fighting a battle he wasn't sure he could win.

Afterward, she had no memory of thinking about, let alone choosing to do what she did. It was simply, suddenly, unbearable to sit and watch him suffer. To have nothing with which to ease him. She reached her hand up, toward his injured shoulder, and with the other, gently placed it over his mouth. Saw panic, fear flare in his eyes. She did not look away as she touched the wound. Squeezed, while tightening her hand on his mouth.

His entire body convulsed, and even through the hand she held against his mouth, he made a noise she would hear in her nightmares for the rest of her life. Then he went limp.

She was trembling. She touched his face, knew hers was wet with tears. He was unconscious, and she could only pray that when he awakened, the pain would be easing. That the orcs would be gone. She slipped the cloth out of his mouth, so he would not choke.

It took long moments before she felt steady enough herself to stand. She needed to check on the orcs.

Eoden looked up when she slipped into the outer cave. And frowned. "You do not look well."

Lisswyn wasn't surprised. She was still trembling, both at what she had watched the King endure and by her own actions. She ignored the question, and motioned toward the cave entrance.

"Are they still there?"

He nodded, kept his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. "They seem to be settling down, perhaps for the night."

Wonderful.

"Come find me if anything changes."

He nodded, and she turned, slipped back into the room where the King was. He was still unconscious.

Slightly ill from the knowledge she had caused that state, she continued into the back rooms, looking for the other women.

She found them in one of the rooms furthest away from the cave entrance. Some of the children were sleeping, some simply sitting quietly on their mother's laps. This cave was one of three with a firepit, as it had a natural chimney going up through the rock. A fire was blazing and nearby were the branches they would use to defend themselves if attacked.

Hilde was currently using the fire for other purposes, though. Lisswyn sniffed, realized the older woman was making a chicken soup or stew.

"You slaughtered one of the chickens?"

"He will need meat."

They had a small flock of the birds, but only very rarely killed one, judging that they would need the meat more in the winter. It was a good theory, but the chickens were not laying well, meaning their numbers were not increasing.

"It will be good for us as well." She managed a smile before heading back to where the King was.

He was still unconscious. She checked his pulse, touched his face. He no longer felt feverish. Then she simply sat next to him, waited.

What if, in trying to spare him agony in the only way she knew, she'd harmed him more? What if he never woke? What if the pain lasted longer due to her actions? The thoughts haunted her, and sickness settled low in her belly. She bowed her head, rested it on her knees.

She was still sitting that way when Maegwen came in.

"How is he?"

Lisswyn shook her head, too weary and heartsick to try and come up with an answer.

Maegwen nodded, accepting the non-answer for what it was. "The soup is done. Shall we bring you some?"

She shook her head. "I will eat later. After he awakes."

"Very well." The other woman kept her voice soft, glanced toward the cave opening where her sons kept watch over the orcs. "The others are trying to keep the children quiet in the farthest cave."

"The children know something is going on, and it is still quite early in the evening," Lisswyn said. "But when it gets a little later, the women should try to get the rest of the children to sleep, then try to sleep themselves. The orcs appear to be sleeping for the night, we may as well do the same."

Maegwen nodded. "I will go check on the boys, then help with the other children, but come get me if you need anything." She nodded toward the king, then turned, left the room.

Lisswyn resumed her silent vigil.

* * *

_His arm was on fire. Burning, burning. But never burning away, the pain never eased. And in the back of his mind was betrayal. Someone had been caring for him, had turned against him. And the burning, the sharp agony intercut with waves of excruciating pain, went on._

* * *

"How is the King?" 

It was only when Hilde came to stand next to her that Lisswyn realized time had passed. She didn't remember sleeping, but was not sure she had been completely awake, either. She grimaced. Another way she'd failed him, to add to the list.

"He is still unconscious," she finally responded.

"The pain must be terrible indeed to knock such a strong man out."

She didn't reply, couldn't. The fear that he would never wake was growing.

"Do you need anything?"

Lisswyn shook her head, and the woman turned, quietly slipped out again.

Even as Hilde walked away, Lisswyn felt him shift. She looked down, relieved he was awake. Until she saw his eyes.

Flat, cold, hard. He was furious.

She swallowed. "My Lord…how is your arm?"

"You will not touch me again. You will not tend to me again. If I must have a keeper, have one of the other women stay with me." His voice was still weak, but livid in tone. He closed his eyes, dismissing her.

She did not pretend to misunderstand, but his words were like a physical blow. For a moment, all she could do was sit, frozen, while she bled inside from an invisible wound.

Then she swallowed. She would not let him see the hurt, even if it was deserved. Her voice quiet, she said, "Very well," as she started to stand.

"Do you think me such a coward?"

Startled, she looked at him. He was glaring at her.

Her mouth opened, closed, but nothing came out. "I—what?"

"That I am so weak, so cowardly, as to betray you to the orcs with my screams?"

Was that what he thought? She forced back the tears. "No, sire. It is not you that is the coward, but me."

He was still very angry, but puzzlement registed now on his face. He motioned her to continue.

She took another deep breath. Control was so important. She had already shamed herself. She would not add to it. "I could not bear to see you in such pain. I thought that if you were unconscious, you would not feel it. Would not have to struggle against it."

Ruthlessly, he continued cutting her. "The pain was present, even while I was senseless. Your skills as a healer leave something to be desired if you can not stand to see pain."

There was nothing to say. Nothing to add. He was right. "I will go get Hilde."

Again she started to stand.

"Wait. What of the orcs?" To prevent her from leaving, he grabbed her arm with his right hand.

As his hand clamped down on one of the raw spots on her arm, she could not prevent a soft cry of pain, had to close her eyes against a wave of dizziness.

Eomer released her arm, stared at her. For the first time, he noticed her pallor. "What is wrong with your arm?"

Her eyes still closed, she shook her head, took a shallow breath. She finally looked at him.

"It is nothing. A scratch." She rubbed her head, as if trying to remember something. Frowned. Took another shallow breath. "The orcs are still at the bottom of cliff, but they seem to be resting rather than—"

He cut her off. "Show me your arm."

Startled, she looked at him. "I am fine, my Lord. I will go get Hilde."

Had he always been so ineffective at getting people to do what he wanted? He did not think so.

He took her hand, held it firmly. Allowed his tone to be very sharp. "You will show me."

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead reluctantly slid the loose sleeve up to near her shoulder.

Her entire arm was scraped and bruised, with raw patches where it looked as if the skin had simply been sanded away. The area where he had grabbed her was now seeping blood. Surely he had not grabbed her with that much force. He couldn't have -- although he was feeling stronger, even his good arm was still weak.

"What happened?"

She shook her head, made as if to stand again. Perhaps he had just met his sister's match in respect to stubborness. He increased his grip on her hand, then realized that her palm was also scratched and scraped.

"You will tell me. Now."

Her nod was one of weary acquiescence. "I went up to the cliffs to collect the healing plants I needed to counter the poison. I slipped on the way down."

He looked at her suspiciously, not at all convinced she was telling him the truth. And realized her hair was loose, hanging next to her face. She had not worn it that way earlier.

On a hunch, he reached up with his right hand and carefully tucked the golden strands behind her ear…and had his guess confirmed as he felt the knot, saw her flinch.

"Where else are you injured?"

She sighed, rubbed her face. Seemed to give up. "I think my ribs are bruised."

"Or cracked."

"I do not believe so. I was able to make it quite a distance after the fall. If I were seriously injured, that would not have been the case."

She tried again to stand, and this time he allowed her to do so. She took a few steps, then turned to look at him.

Her voice quiet, she said, "You are laboring under a false assumption, Sire. You have had the great misfortune to be injured while among people who have no healer. I am certainly not one. I am but a weaver whose mother was very accomplished in the healing arts. Alas, I am not her, and you have suffered the more for it."

She walked out, leaving him to wonder how he had moved from feeling betrayed to guilty in such a short period of time.

* * *

Lisswyn walked carefully to the cave where the food was. Her arm was throbbing where he had grabbed it, and she knew her reserves of strength were at their end. 

Maegwen looked up, frowned. But before she could speak, Lisswyn cut her off. "The King appears to be doing much better. I suspect he could handle some of the soup now."

Maegwen nodded. "What of you?"

"I am going to go rest for a while. I will have some when I awake." She paused, then continued. "Have Hilde sit with him if he seems to warrant it."

She turned and walked to the room where she and Brynwyn slept with several of the other women. It was empty at the moment, and her relief nearly made her dizzy. She crawled into the bed, and let the tears come.

She did not notice her sister standing in the door.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, it's true. I've taken liberties with the poison and the counter-agents, and can only ask for your forgiveness. Although Tolkien said he thought of Middle Earth as having been our world many, many ages ago, I've opted (at least in this part of the story) to focus on the fantasy element of things in respect to an unusual poison and cure._

_Again, thanks to all who are reading this. I hope you continue to enjoy it. _


	6. Healing Begins

A/N: Many, many thanks to those who are reading and reviewing this. :) A few more comments at the bottom.

* * *

Eomer was alone, and not happy about it. Normally, a few minutes of solitude, something practically non-existent since he had become King, was a good thing. But at the moment, he had a great many questions that needed answers. What was the situation with the orcs? Possibly the best indication that he was not himself was that he had allowed Lisswyn's injuries to distract him from getting an answer to that question. It disturbed him now that he did not know how much danger they were in. And how was Firefoot? _Where_ was Firefoot? 

With no answers to those questions, he had too much time to think about other things. Like the fact that he could feel his arm but could not yet move it. Like the fact that he had repaid Lisswyn's care with what now seemed like unnecessary harshness.

He was not normally a cruel man. Short-tempered on occasion, yes, and that was something he had been trying to tame since inheriting the throne. Kings could ill afford to act impulsively or out of rash anger. But even once he had realized that she was upset by what she had done, he had continued trying to make his point.

He sighed, tried again to make a fist. Winced as some residual pain flashed along his arm, which remained lifeless.

"My lord?"

He looked up to see one of the older women coming toward him with two mugs. Behind her, Brynwyn carried something wrapped in a cloth. The woman sat her items down next to him, and the pleasant aroma told him one of the mugs was full of soup. Chicken soup. He was starving.

The woman was now staring at him thoughtfully. "Do you feel well enough to try sitting up, sire?"

He nodded, suspecting that the alternative would be being handfed. Something his pride would very much like to avoid.

"I will go get some more sleeping skins to prop you against." She turned and left, followed by Brynwyn.

They returned, and in a matter of moments he was propped more or less into a sitting position. The experience taught him two things: that he used his arms more than he realized to balance himself, and that he was as weak a new born foal.

"The soup will help." The woman's voice was soft as she moved the soup next to him, where he could easily reach it with his good hand. But she obviously knew what he was thinking. "I thought a mug would be easier to manage than a bowl. The other is water. We have nothing else to drink, I'm afraid."

"What is your name?"

She looked a startled, as if it had not occurred to her that he would want to know. "Maegwen, my Lord."

"Thank you, Maegwen." He reached for the mug of soup, lifted it carefully. As weak as he was, he was still able, barely, to manage to bring it to his mouth. He took several long sips, then set the mug down to rest for a moment.

Maegwen nodded, satisfied. Then an apologetic look came over her face. "I am afraid, sire, that I am needed in the other room. Brynwyn will stay with you. Send her to fetch me if you need anything else." She nodded toward the mug. "There is more soup available, there is also a little bread."

Eomer looked down, saw the covered item Brynwyn had carried was some sort of flatbread. He wondered just how much the women had to eat, how they were managing.

"Again, thank you."

He took several more long drinks, and discovered large chunks of chicken in the bottom of the mug. He was almost certainly getting the best of the meal this night. Something else to feel guilty about.

He sat the mug back down, leaned his head back, and sighed. He still hadn't asked about the situation with the orcs. What was wrong with him that he couldn't seem to keep priorities straight? He needed to know what was going on.

Glancing up, he realized Brynwyn, instead of sitting next to him, was across the room, crouched next to the wall. He frowned. "Brynwyn? Why are you over there?"

She stared at him. "Lisswyn is injured."

He nodded but spoke gently. "Her injuries, though painful, are not life-threatening."

"Andric says she nearly died." Her voice was very small.

He frowned. "Who is Andric?"

"Maegwen's son. He and Eoden were with Lisswyn after she saw the orcs. They could not find your men." She added the last as a sad afterthought.

Eomer sat up a little straighter, wondering if his hearing was going. He tried to make sense of the little girl's statements. "My men? I thought Lisswyn had gone for herbs?"

She looked confused. "Maegwen's boys went out last night, trying to find your men. Lisswyn went at first light to find the medicine you needed. But then she saw the orcs, and fell down the cliff trying to get to the boys."

It still wasn't making much sense. He tried a different question. "How old are the boys?"

"Eoden has seen twelve summers, Andric only ten."

Ten and twelve. And they had gone out amidst orcs and wargs. Had the women no sense? Anger rose up again, and he suppressed it. And Brynwyn's description of Lisswyn's fall sounded rather different, more serious, than what Lisswyn had told him.

"I am afraid."

He looked back over at the little girl. "Come here." He spoke gently, pointed at a spot next to him. No point upsetting her just because he wanted to strangle the adults in her life.

She hesitated, then moved over to sit next to him. He brushed her hair away from her face.

"I know you're afraid. But Lisswyn will be fine."

"She was weeping."

She said it so quietly he had to strain to hear it. Then wished he hadn't.

"She told me her injuries were not that serious. But she would not weep in such a manner if she were fine. She cried until she finally slept." Brynwyn's voice was flat, certain.

Oh, no. No. Not this. A woman's tears completely unmanned him. He thought he knew why Lisswyn had been weeping, and it had very little to do with the injuries she had received in the fall. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a moment. Wished he had the strength to kick himself.

"Andric thinks she is dying but chooses not to say anything."

Her voice trembled, and he looked over to see a tear rolling down her face. One sister's tears at a time. He gently brushed the tear away.

"Brynwyn, listen to me." He hesitated. "Andric is wrong. Lisswyn is not dying. She told me she climbed and walked a fair distance after she fell. She could not have done that if she had life-threatening injuries." He looked closely at her, to see if the words were sinking in, then added, "She also cared for me for a time after her return. And the other women would have noticed if she had not been well."

"But Andric…"

"Andric wants to scare you." _Or impress you_, but he left that part out.

She looked confused, and he continued. "That is what little boys do. Trust me."

The tears had stopped, but she still looked troubled. "Then why does Lisswyn cry?" She looked down, as if ashamed. "She did not weep when papa died. Or when we lost the cottage. I did. But she did not."

His own guilt and shame twisted a little more. How much should he say? To his surprise, he found he did not want the little girl to think badly of him. But he could not leave her afraid her sister was dying.

He chose his words carefully. "Brynwyn…have you ever been angry, or said something you regretted later?"

She looked up, plainly puzzled. Nodded.

"I said something harsh to Lisswyn." He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her. "At the time, I believed it was justified. But it was not."

"And that is why she was weeping?" She sounded doubtful.

"I believe so. It may also be a combination of being tired, and worried, and in pain." He wanted to believe those things, himself. But he found he couldn't, at least not completely. He remembered the look on her face, and the way she had tried to hide it, when he had spoken so harshly to her.

Brynwyn said nothing for a long moment. Finally, hesitatingly, she asked, "Will you…" She faltered.

"Ask her to forgive me?"

She nodded.

"Yes…if she will allow me to do so."

"But you are the King."

He frowned, troubled. Was this what his people thought? That he could say anything, do anything, and not be held accountable? "Yes. I am." Deliberately, he made his voice firm. "And that means I have a greater responsibility to listen first, which I did not do with your sister, and to ask forgiveness if I make a mistake."

Brynwyn did not respond, appeared to be deep in thought.

Then she looked up at him, a little shyly. "Lisswyn says you are a good king." She smiled. "I think she is right."

Moved, it took him a moment to respond. "Thank you," he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Where are Maegwen's boys?"

She looked up. "They are out in the front cave, with your horse. Watching the orcs."

That answered the question about Firefoot, at least.

"Will you go get them for me? I will not keep them long, but would like to ask them where they searched for my men." And about what the orcs are doing.

A few moments later, he looked up as the boys entered his room, both appearing a little nervous. The oldest one ducked his head in an attempt at a bow, the younger one mimicked him. Eomer held back a smile at their seriousness.

"My lord? Brynwyn said you asked to see us?"

At the older one's anxious question, all thoughts of humor fled. These two had risked their lives for him. "What are your names?"

"I am called Eoden," the oldest answered, then turned to his brother. "And this is Andric"

"Eoden and Andric," he repeated. "I am honored to meet you." Looking at them more carefully, he saw they were both on the thin side, but not frail. Their faces bore the knowledge of grief, and he wondered where their father was. In which particular battle he had fallen. "I am told you searched for my men."

Eoden's face fell. "We failed you, Sire. We did not find any sign of them."

"If that is true, you may have failed to find my men. You did not fail me."

They looked confused. He continued. "You risked your lives to look, and now I know that they were not in the places you searched. And I take it you did not find their bodies, or armor, or horses, either?"

At this, their looks turned to hope. "No, my Lord. We went in the direction from which Lisswyn said you came, for several miles. We saw recent evidence of horses riding through, but no other signs of your men." He frowned. "Sire, may I ask a question?"

Eomer nodded.

"How did you come to be separated from your men? Why were they not guarding you more carefully?" Suddenly realizing it was the Royal Guard he was speaking of so disparagingly, Eoden ducked his head, as if waiting for a reprimand.

"It is a fair question, Eoden," Eomer said slowly. "We were attacked, and from the beginning it was clear the orcs were trying to separate me from my guard. Several of the beasts surrounded me, while others seemed to concentrate on driving my men away from me. We were outnumbered – it was easily one of the largest packs of orcs I have ever encountered outside of the battles during the war."

"I now believe that taking me was always their real goal, though to what purpose I do not know. When I was struck by the arrow, Firefoot fled, and outran them. I think they planned to track us, to find me once I had fallen. Which they would have done, had it not been for Lisswyn."

"Brynwyn." Andric spoke for the first time, and Eomer looked up, confused as the boy finished adamantly. "It was Brynwyn who found you."

Ah, yes. Another smile nearly escaped as he nodded. Young Andric was quite taken with the little girl. And she appeared to be completely clueless. He wondered if Lisswyn or Maegwen knew.

"But, Sire, if your men are not dead, then where are they? Why are they not looking for you?"

Eomer did not answer for a long moment. "Some of them _are_ dead, Eoden. I saw them fall." He paused, aching for the men who would not return to Edoras. "It's possible that you didn't quite make it to the place where we were attacked. But as for the others…I think they might have returned to Edoras to gather more men. They will continue hunting for me or my remains until they find me; they will continue hunting the orcs who attacked us until all are defeated."

The boy nodded in understanding, and in his eyes, Eomer saw a fierce longing to be a part of such battles, such vengeance. He could only hope that by the time Eoden was sufficiently old enough to share in such an endeavor they would no longer be as necessary.

"What of the orcs? Do they still camp below the entrance to the caves?"

Eoden nodded. "Yes, my Lord. Many of them were killed in a feud this morning – we saw and heard them while returning with Lisswyn. But the remainder are below us. And we do not know why." He paused, confused. "They seem to be waiting for something. But if they know we are here, why delay?"

"They may know you are here, but they almost certainly do not know I am." Or they would have attacked already. "But still, the question of what they are waiting for is valid." He paused, stared off toward the front of the cave, then shook his head. "We do not have sufficient information. We will just have to wait and watch." He looked around, then asked the question he was dreading the answer to. "Are there any weapons at all in the caves?

"No, sire…well, Lisswyn has the Dunlendings' sword." He looked embarrassed. "But none of us know how to handle it." His face red with shame, he looked everywhere but at Eomer.

"Eoden, look at me." The boy looked up, clearly still embarrassed. "I promise you that once this is over, I will make sure you receive weapons training." The boy's eyes glazed over in amazement, and Eomer wondered if Maegwen would be quite so pleased with his promise. But obviously, they needed to be able to defend themselves. "You have already proven yourselves brave and loyal. It is appropriate you know how to protect yourselves."

The boy nodded, trying hard to look nonchalant in the midst of his excitement. Then he seemed to remember the original question. "We have wood stockpiled, my Lord. Lisswyn thought we might be able to use fire to ward off the orcs."

As weapons went, firebrands were rather dismal, more an attempt to have something with which to make a last stand than providing any kind of real hope, and Lisswyn obviously knew that. But they would do their best.

Maegwen entered the room, and looked startled to see her sons with the king. Eomer identified her look as boding ill for the boys. "I asked to speak with them concerning where they searched for my men." He said quietly, and noted with amusement the look of relief on the boys' faces. They might be old enough to begin some basic weapons training, but they were still young enough to want to avoid their mother's displeasure.

She nodded, then looked at all of them inquiringly. "Sire, should you not rest?" The boys took the hint, and left, after glancing at Eomer for permission.

After they had departed, Maegwen moved to help him lie down, and he did so aware of how awkward he was. He still could not move his arm, nor even begin to make a fist. He tried to tell himself to be patient, but his fear that the arm would not come completely back was growing.

"My Lord, would you like for me to sit with you tonight?"

He shook his head. "No, I will be fine." He had already interrupted their lives enough.

Maegwen looked hesitant. "I will have Andric sleep in here." And she quickly moved to follow the boys.

Eomer closed his eyes, wondering again when he had lost the ability to get people to do as he wanted.

* * *

The pain woke her, a sharp burning in her arm. It took a moment for Lisswyn to recall why it was throbbing. As she did, other injuries made themselves felt. Her ribs ached as if she been battered from the inside, her legs were sore from hip to foot. She sat up slowly, closed her eyes against the spin of the room. The knot on the side of her head stung in counterpoint to the overall headache.

As she noted the injuries, her memory of the day before came into sharper focus. Most of the pains were due to her fall while trying to reach the boys. But part of her headache was due to having cried herself to sleep.

She hadn't cried like that in years, and it shamed her. Tears were useless. She had heard women refer to the emotional release such tears could provide but Lisswyn figured they must feel better physically after such a crying episode than she did. Her eyes were swollen and her head was as stuffed as if she had a cold.

And no matter how miserable she felt physically, the greatest hurt was still internal. Instead of helping the King, she had caused him additional pain when he was already in agony. She could still see the look of panic and fear in his eyes when he'd realized what she was going to do, could still hear that hideous sound he'd made when she'd squeezed his wound. The memory made her stomach roll. How could she have thought, for even a moment, that hurting him in such a manner would somehow be better for him than simply struggling through the pain?

He had sent her away. Though she deserved no less, of course, the memory of his tone when he'd done so stirred fresh shame and hurt that would follow her long after the other wounds and bruises healed.

Wanting to curl up and weep again, she instead sat up. Brynwyn, Hilde, and the two other women who shared the cave were asleep, and she could hear no noise from the other rooms. It was either very late or very early. Her stomach cramped, temporarily taking her mind off of what had happened with the King. When was the last time she had eaten? She could not remember.

She stood, wincing as bruises in her back made themselves known. Was there a part of her body that didn't ache? She did not believe so. And it felt worse, not better for the few hours of sleep.

She made her way slowly to the room they used for a kitchen. The fire was banked, but still glowing, and she poked at it until it flickered back to life. With the orcs so close, they should have had someone tend it all night. But that was something that would not have occurred to any of the other women. She suppressed a silent sigh. Maegwen, at least, should have thought of it, but she'd probably been busy with the King.

The room still smelled of chicken, but she knew better than to hope there would be any of the soup left. There was simply too many of them in the caves to really feed from one chicken. Most of it would have gone to feed the King and the children. That was as it should be.

But she found a small crock of bean soup sitting in the ashes of the fire, and a quick whiff of it told her Maegwen had made it out of the chicken stock at least. So she would have some of the flavor if none of the actual chicken.

"Bless you, Maegwen." She settled down next to the fire, tried to find a comfortable position. There wasn't one, so she finally abandoned the attempt, and began sipping the soup.

Their food situation worried her. Only in her most optimistic moments did she have much real hope for their surviving the winter. There were too many ifs involved: if they had a warm season, if the orcs left them alone, if they could keep the caves warm, if the vegetables they would harvest from their gardens would be of a sufficient amount and quality. In her more realistic moments, she wondered if any of them would still be alive come spring.

She sighed, drained the last of the soup. She ached all over, but would never be able to get back to sleep. If anxiety about the King, the orcs, and the coming winter did not keep her awake, the discomfort would. She wished she had some of her healing herbs with her. One of them could be made into a tea that might take the edge off of some of her pain. At least the bruises and muscle aches, even if it would have done little for the King's injury.

But the herb was in her pouch, in the room where the King was. And she was reluctant to go in there. He had been very clear about not wishing to see her again, and though the memory of that caused a different kind of ache, she would honor his wishes.

Finally, she winced, got slowly to her feet. She would be useless if she was so stiff she could barely move. Perhaps he was asleep and she could slip in and retrieve the herb without disturbing him. Then she would check on the orcs.

Moving quietly, she paused in the door of the room where the king was. In the candlelight, she could see the him, apparently sleeping, and near him a smaller shape rolled up in a sleeping skin. Andric, perhaps. They must have decided the King did not actually need anyone to sit up with him. That was good, as it surely bode well for how he was doing. She slipped across the room, bent to pick up her leather pouch of healing herbs. Then froze as the man next to her shifted.

* * *

Eomer had slept for a while, but a nightmare involving the orcs attacking the women around him had convinced him he was better off awake. The images of a warg tearing into Brynwyn while he laid useless nearby had been all too vivid. At least awake he could ponder their options. Could mull over why the orcs were camped where they were, what they were waiting for. Where they were from. Where his men were. And could try to keep his mind off of images of Lisswyn weeping the way Brynwyn had described.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen her come to the door, watched her hesitate. She was moving so stiffly, so obviously in pain, that he wondered if they had all misjudged the severity of her injuries. She was pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes – eyes swollen by the tears he had caused. He remembered Brynwyn's comment about how seldom she wept, and wondered if it were possible to feel any deeper shame.

She bent down to the leather pouch on the floor and he shifted a bit. He needed to apologize, and now was as good a time as any. He started to speak, and she looked up, froze. And he had the answer to his question. Yes, it was possible to feel a greater shame. The woman looked half afraid of him.

"Sire…I…please forgive me for waking you." Her voice trembled slightly. "It was not my intent. I just needed something from my pouch."

Again, he started to speak, but she cut him off. "My Lord, I know you do not want to see me." She glanced away, and Eomer stared at her, baffled. What did she mean?

She looked back at him, obviously nervous but determined to speak. "But I – I would take this opportunity to tell you how sorry I am for what I chose to do." Her voice had tightened, as if more tears were still at hand. "I do not ask for forgiveness, because I know that causing you more pain so was unforgivable, particularly when you were already suffering so." Tears came into her eyes, tears she struggled not to shed, and his stomach pitched.

"I know my words mean nothing, but I would have you hear me say them," she finished on a whisper. "I am sorry." With that, she stood and started toward the outer cave.

"Lisswyn." It came out more firmly than he had intended. She stopped, but did not turn around. He made his voice as gentle as he could. "Please come here."

It took a long moment for her to turn, to come back to him. If anything, she was now paler than when she'd entered the room. He motioned next to him, for her to sit down. She did so, but would not look at him.

He hesitated, then spoke quietly. "You are wrong. Words have great power. I wounded you with words yesterday, and would have you face me so I can apologize properly."

She looked up then, plainly startled. "No, Lord! You can not…you do not…that is not necessary."

"Yes, it is." His voice was firm. He paused for a moment, wanting the words to sink in. "You do not need to ask for forgiveness because there is nothing to forgive… on your part."

One of the tears fell. He swallowed, reached over and gently brushed it away. Was profoundly relieved when she didn't flinch from him. "What you did was perhaps unwise from a healing point of view, but you did it because you thought it would spare me pain. And that is no crime. The intent more than balances the action."

She was staring at him with such a look of such hope and disbelief on her face that he faltered for a moment, struggled against looking away from her in his own shame. "I, on the other hand, allowed my temper to control me, and passed judgment on you without finding out the truth." He found he could not help touching her cheek again. "And that _is_ unforgivable."

His gaze was direct. "But I would ask for your forgiveness, nonetheless."

She blinked at him, and her face colored. "There is no need for that, sire."

"Yes, there is." He looked at her, raised a brow. "Lisswyn, I do not believe that who I am gives me the right to act rashly, or to allow my temper to control me. I do not want to be known for treating my people callously. You saved my life at risk to your own, have been nothing but kind to me. You've cared for me, made sacrifices for me, and been injured while trying to help me. And I repaid you by hurting you. There is much need for forgiveness." His voice quiet, he added, "The question is whether you can do so."

Her head jerked again, flooded with embarrassment. It seemed she was speechless, could only nod.

"Thank you." Eomer's voice was grave. He tilted her face back up. "You honor me."

She blush deepened, and she shook her head as if a little baffled.

"No more tears, then." He murmured, and watched her face go another shade darker. Her tears seemed to mortify her, and again he thought of Eowyn. There were more than a few similarities between the two women. She shook her head.

"Even if I chastise you for something else?"

At this she looked up, startled and plainly anxious. "Sire?"

He kept his voice even. He did not wish to hurt her again, but would make his feelings known. "I was not pleased to find out that you sent young boys out on my behalf."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "Yes, sire."

He cocked his head. "That is all you will say?"

She hesitated, took a deep breath. Seemed to brace herself. "I suspected you would not approve."

It pleased him that she had apparently lost her nervousness of him to the point that she could respond with such honesty to the reprimand. He waited.

"My lord," She looked up at him, direct and unflinching. "I was afraid you would die, that I would not be able to help you with my limited skills. I thought if we could find your men, one of them would know better than I how to care for you. Or would know where to find a more experienced healer."

She paused, and looked away, her voice becoming more quiet. "I did not want to send the boys. I feared for them. But there was no one else to send. I could not go myself at that point because I was the only one in the caves with any healing skills at all."

He marveled that she could so misunderstand him as to think he was suggesting it would have been better if she had gone in place of the boys.

"Lisswyn."

"Yes?"

"Let me make myself completely clear." His voice was very firm. "No one is to leave these caves, for any reason, without my permission, until the situation with the orcs is resolved."

By the time he finished speaking, she had bowed her head again, her shoulders drooping a little. He forced her chin back up, was relieved to see a little embarrassment, presumably from the reprimand, but no sign of tears. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

He let go of her, sighed. "Do not think I do not appreciate what the boys did. And I have told them so." He paused. "And do not think I do not appreciate what you have done." He lightly touched a scratch on her arm. "But I would not have any more injury – or death – on my count."

"It was my choice, Lord." She responded quietly.

"Taking responsibility in such a manner is an admirable thing. But if you believe fealty to me requires sacrifice and risk, it also requires obedience, does it not?"

She nodded, looked away. Her shoulders were drooping again. "I am sorry, my Lord."

He shook his head. The woman had him tied up in knots, unable to say or do anything right. "I did not ask for an apology, nor do I believe you owe me one. You did as you believed you needed to do, and I am alive, for which I am very grateful. I just ask that there be no more of those kinds of risks taken on my behalf."

She looked up, and to his amazement, he saw a twinkle of what might have been humor in her eyes. "Then I ask that you avoid any more orc arrows while in my vicinity, my Lord."

Delighted by the humor, he felt a smile tug at his own mouth. "Agreed," he said.

* * *

A/N:

Maddy: Brynwyn's name is more because I like the sound of the syllables than because I was looking particularly at meanings at that point, but you're correct concerning Lisswyn – I deliberately chose "Liss" as the first part of her name because of its meaning, as well as liking how it sounds. (I love the fact that you actually looked them up!)

Kay: Eomer felt betrayed when Lisswyn squeezed his wound to knock him out, initially believing she did it because she thought he was a coward, and would betray them to orcs with his screams of pain. Thus he reacted with anger, telling her he didn't want her caring for him again, an action he later regretted.


	7. Interlude

_A/N: First, my sincere apologies for the delay in posting. This story is completely finished (it's quite long!) but some of it needs revision, particularly in the early sections. Unfortunately, this chapter is mostly new, and the parts I kept from the first draft needed a great deal of reworking at a time when real life threw me a number of curve balls. It is my intention to post at least one chapter a week as often as possible (and sometimes more) but there will be weeks when that probably won't happen (I'm on vacation the first two weeks of September, and will post if I can – I'm hoping to have several chapters completely revised and ready to go before leaving town) but if I do disappear for a week or two, don't despair – the story will be eventually be posted in its entirety. Once I'm back from vacation, my life should calm down considerably._

_A/N 2: I commented on this before one of the earlier chapters, but feel I should repeat it in light of Wondereye's question. This is a very dark, very angsty story, and quite frankly, it gets much worse before it gets better. I've tried to drop lighter moments in as we go along, and I promise that everything ends well, but it's dark enough in places I've wondered if I should have rated it M just for the angst factor. I know there are people who don't like a lot of angst, or at least like to be prepared for it…so you've been warned. ;) _

_More replies at the bottom…_

_

* * *

_

Eomer awoke, disoriented. In the candlelit darkness of the cave, it took a moment to remember where he was, to move past the confusion of seeing the cave walls around him. Past the panic of an arm that still wouldn't move.

With relief, he saw Lisswyn enter the room from the direction of the outer cave. As soon as she saw he was awake, she veered over, eased down next to him. "How is your arm?"

He resisted answering the question. If he didn't voice his concerns he could pretend they didn't exist. But her silence wouldn't be ignored. "There is some sensitivity, but I can not control it," he finally said, and not wanting to see her pity, he stared back down at his useless limb.

She didn't respond, and after a long moment, he forced himself to look at her. She was staring off into the distance, a frown on her face.

"Lisswyn?"

She shook her head in reply, then started to reach for the covers still tucked around his arm before hesitating, drawing back, her expression uncertain. "Would you mind if I examined it? Or perhaps you'd rather one of the other women do so?"

"Why would I want someone else?" Baffled, he didn't understand at first, and when he did, impatience colored his tone. "What went before is over. No one but you is to care for me." It surprised him to realize just how vehement he was about that point, how much it mattered that she be the one to tend him.

She cleared her throat. "Thank you for that." Reaching forward again, she moved the covers, looked down at his arm. He followed her gaze, noticed the splotches of discoloration. That couldn't be good.

She lightly ran a finger from his palm to his elbow. "Can you feel that? Does it hurt?"

"I can feel your touch, but no, there's no pain."

He watched as she continued tracing the discolored areas on his arm – it was hard not to, with her leaning across his body in order to do so – and he found it remarkably easy to be distracted by her nearness. Her hair hung in a long braid down her back. It was thick, and judging from his earlier view, very straight. He wanted to see it loose again. Perhaps she'd unbind it if he asked…

The thought startled him. He had no business thinking anything along those lines.

A sudden blaze of pain brought him back to the matter at hand and had him suppressing an oath. She'd moved up his arm, was now gently examining the wound itself.

She stopped, a concerned look on her face. 'I'm sorry. I should have realized there would be more tenderness there."

More carefully, she continued her examination, then met his gaze again, relief in her eyes. "I see no signs of infection, but am going to clean it again and treat it with salve made from an herb which counters infection. It will sting, I'm afraid."

He nodded, watched, as she reached toward a bowl of warm water. She must have prepared it earlier, had only been waiting for him to awaken to use it.

The procedure did hurt, and he once again turned his head, gritted his teeth. Biting back the words that wanted to spew, he tried to distract himself from what she was doing. There was plenty of distractions to choose from – worries about the orcs and his men, for starters – but his mind insisted on focusing on the woman tending him.

She smelled of herbs, a clean, fresh scent that he found pleasing – more so, really, than the scents many of the women of the royal court wore. It was almost certainly the result of the herbs she'd been using to treat him rather than a deliberate attempt to smell nice – he couldn't imagine her concerning herself with such feminine behaviors as scent when their survival seemed so tenuous. But it was pleasant, none the less.

…and he had no more business thinking of her scent than he did wanting her to unbind her hair. What was wrong with him? Desperate for another diversion, he again forced his mind to the orcs.

"There." She gently positioned a clean cloth over the wound as a bandage, and sat back. "The wound itself seems to be healing quite well, really." She met his eyes. "The arrow that pierced you was thinner, lighter than any I've seen before. It did less damage to the muscle than it might have."

He took a deep breath as the pain faded, then nodded. "The purpose of the arrow was the poison, and a lighter arrow flew farther."

The relief faded to a frown as she reached over for a clean cloth and began to wipe the salve off her fingers.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm sorry, sire." In the closest thing to temper he'd seen her display, she tossed the cloth down next to him and ran her hands over her face. "I've been trying to remember more of what my mother told me about the effects of the numbing poison, but it was many years ago. I do not know what else to do for you."

"There may not be anything else you can do," he said grimly. At her look of distress, he added, "What do you remember her saying?"

She was slow to answer. "That if the anti-poison was not administered quickly enough, it could prevent the poison from killing the victim, but leave the limb useless." Her frown deepened as she struggled to remember. "That there are three stages of damage and healing, the first being where the arm can neither be felt nor controlled, the second where there is sensitivity but no movement, and the third where full use of the limb returns."

"And it's just as possible to be permanently left at one stage as the others." At her glance, he continued, "I've known men who were poisoned." He looked down at his arm. "Thus at the moment, I have sensitivity, but no control, and that may improve …or it may not."

"I should have left earlier to go after the healing plants."

"What?" The comment confused him until he saw the guilt on her face, and he forcibly reined in impatience. "Did you make the best choice you could at the time?"

"Of course."

He reached up, took her chin in his hand, forced her to look at him. Her skin was soft, and nearly distracted him from the misery in her eyes. Nearly. "Your sister told me you left at first light – if you'd gone earlier, you might have missed seeing the plants, or might have taken a worse tumble than you did and not returned at all. Let it go," he said firmly. Then, gentling his tone, he added, "Do not doubt yourself, nor question your care of me. I am alive, and that is no small thing. Indeed, it is far more than I hoped for when the arrow struck me, when I realized how outnumbered we were."

The guilt slowly faded from her eyes, and she pulled her chin away from him, cleared her throat. "You must not give up. The arm may yet come back." A sound of frustration escaped. "That is what I most wish I could ask my mother, or another healer – how long it can take. I simply don't know. But you must not give up," she repeated.

His gaze returned to his immobile arm, and he reached over, folded the fingers of the left hand into a fist, then straightened them. "No. No, I will not give up."

For both their sakes, he changed the topic. She was still moving cautiously, obviously sore. "How are you?"

Lisswyn opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, plainly embarrassed.

"An honest answer, if you please."

"I will be fine, my Lord."

"That is not what I asked you."

Reluctantly, she finally said, "I am sore with bruises and scrapes, but nothing more serious than that."

"Let me see your arm."

"My lord…"

He raised an eyebrow, and watched her embarrassed color deepen before she rolled up the sleeve, unable to control a wince as even the light material dragged over the raw places.

With a very light touch, he stroked an area that was only bruised. He frowned. "Should you not wrap the rest of it?" She had bandaged only the scrapes that continued to bleed.

Lisswyn shook her head. "We do not really have sufficient cloth to make so many bandages, sire. I also thought some exposure to air would be a good thing."

The reminder of how few possessions they had troubled him, and he cleared his throat, wondered what he could possibly say in reply. He finally nodded, then moved onto the other pressing issue. "What of the orcs? Has there been any change in their movements?"

Her relief at the change of topic apparent, she shook her head again. "Not really. They've gone off in groups all through the night. One group returns, another heads out. But they're still using the area below us as a main camp of sorts."

"It's a fairly secluded area."

"Which is one of the things that made the caves so attractive to us in the first place," she said wryly.

He started to ask how they'd come to be living in the caves at all, but before he could do so, she raised her head, a question in her eyes.

"What?" he prompted when her silence stretched out.

"What of your men, sire? Do you believe any of them still …" she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Live?" He didn't answer her immediately as sadness pushed at him. "I don't know. I believe so." _I hope so._

"Eoden told me of the way the orcs separated you from them."

"There were so many of them, far too many for it to be a coincidence that they happened to see us, decided to attack. But I still don't know what their purpose was – if it was merely to kill me, they would have used a heavier arrow. And without knowing their intentions, I don't know how concerned they were about battling all my men to the death. That would have increased their casualties as well, so if the true purpose was to capture me after I succumbed to the poison, more of my men may have escaped."

"They're looking for you."

"My men?"

"The orcs. We heard them say your name, but could not tell what they were saying."

He wasn't surprised. The attack had been too well coordinated, particularly for orcs, for the creatures simply to give up after his escape. "As for my men…I know some of them fell, but I believe others escaped." Anticipating her next question, he continued, "Any who are uninjured are almost certainly looking for me, but it will not be easy to find my trail. Staying in the saddle took all my energy, so I let Firefoot have his head, trusting him to outrun the wargs. But the orcs chasing me will have covered my tracks."

He paused, considered, tried to see the situation objectively, not colored by false hope. "A few of the men may well have returned to Edoras, particularly if there are others who are injured. They will notify any eoreds they encounter, and Elfhelm, captain of the city guard. The eoreds will be hunting both for me – or my remains – and the orcs. Whether they realize it or not, the orcs do not have long to survive," he finished grimly.

Some of the tension drained from her face at his words. "That is encouraging – that eoreds will be looking for both you and the orcs," she said quietly. "We have a supply of water, and some food stored in the caves, but are not prepared for a long siege."

She carried so much responsibility. He'd seen it in the way the other women referred to her, turned to her. And his own admiration for her was growing. "You should sleep."

She looked startled by the comment. "I slept earlier. I find it difficult to rest knowing the orcs are so close." She glanced toward the front cave. "Morning is not far off, anyway."

Silence fell between them again, and in spite of himself and his own concerns about the orcs, his eyes closed, a sudden weakness coming over him. He forced them back open, and looked at her.

"If you can sleep, you should do so," she said softly. "My mother called sleep the great healer, and it can only help your arm."

He nodded, grateful that she understood his desire to stay awake, stay alert, even while encouraging him to let his body rest. His eyes closed again.

* * *

Lisswyn sat with her back against the wall of the outer cave. By leaning a little to the left, she could peer over the edge, down into the orc camp, while still well within the protective shadows. 

How many were there? Fifty? Sixty? It was hard to tell, when they kept coming and going. A small group would go off, then return sometime later, argue with those who'd stayed, and then that group would go off in the other direction while the first group, snarling and fighting amongst themselves, rested.

They were obviously still looking for the King, and she heard his name more than once. Again, she wondered what measure of bad luck had the creatures making their camp right below the caves, but at least it made it possible to keep track of them.

Not all of them were on wargs. Was that a status thing? Simply an indication that there weren't enough of the beasts to go around? Or perhaps more of them had died? She could only hope so.

She glanced up, noted the position of the sun. It was low in the sky, and never had she dreaded nightfall more. At least in daylight, it was easier to see what the orcs were doing.

Sensing movement, she looked up, watched as Maegwen quietly joined her on the floor of the cave. For a moment, the other woman said nothing, simply stared off in the direction of the orc camp.

"Is there any change?" Her voice was not even a whisper.

Lisswyn shook her head. "The King?"

"Still sleeping."

Lisswyn nodded. He had slept for much of the day, but it was a restful sleep, with no fever, no sign of infection. He still could not move his arm, however, and her fear was growing in that respect. She'd seen the same fear in his eyes, though he'd not spoken of it.

"How are you?"

Startled by the question, she looked up, met the concerned eyes of her friend. "I'm fine."

"He's an attractive man. A good man."

Heat rushed into Lisswyn's face as she understood the question had not been about her physical injuries, but she kept her expression calm. "He is. And I'm an ordinary village woman who knows he is not for the likes of me."

Maegwen's expression remained steady. Troubled. "The heart does not always choose wisely. I would not have you hurt."

Lisswyn looked away, considered how to reply, how to respond to the other woman's concern. When she looked back, she managed a smile. "True. But I think my heart knows better than to leap in that foolhardy direction. Still…" She looked past Maegwen, toward the cave where the King slept.

"What?"

"No matter what price I might pay in terms of caring perhaps more than is wise – and you're right, it is very difficult not to do so – I will never be sorry for having met him." She paused, struggled for the right words. "As you say, he's a good man. A good king. And regardless of what happens to us, I will always be glad for having been able to see that for myself. To know that the Riddermark is in good hands. To know that after all the losses of the last few years, there is true hope for the future."

"The boys told me what he said to them." Maegwen's expression turned thoughtful. "I believe I have more real hope for them, for their future, now than I have at anytime since word came that their father and brothers were lost."

"We just have to stay quiet and alive long enough for the King's men and the eoreds to find us," Lisswyn murmured, looking once more down at the orc camp.

Maegwen nodded, and there was another long moment of silence between them before she spoke again. "You're wrong about one thing, though." As Lisswyn looked back at her, she shifted into a crouching position in preparation for easing back, away from the edge of the cave, then leaned over again, and very softly said, "There's nothing ordinary about you, and the king is wise enough to see that." With that, she slipped away, back toward the other caves.

Stunned, Lisswyn could only stare after her in complete astonishment. Then she shook her head. Maegwen wasn't normally given to such fanciful remarks – worry over the situation with the orcs must be affecting the other woman more than she'd realized.

She should have known her oldest friend would see her attraction to the King, though. Indeed, the other woman had probably been aware of it since the night he'd saved them from the Dunlendings.

Maegwen was right to be concerned, she admitted. Every encounter she had with him seemed only to emphasize that he was more than just a good king. He was a good man. He had been under no obligation to apologize to her, and yet had done so. Sincerely and humbly…but without losing the essential nobility and dignity he seemed to carry with him always.

Although she'd spoken the truth when said she would always be grateful for having had the opportunity to get to know him, that didn't mean she was foolish enough not to recognize the danger of losing her heart to him. This interlude would pass. He would return to Edoras, to the women of the court; she would remain in the caves, trying to keep herself and the others alive through the coming winter. It was going to be difficult enough to do without the added complication of an aching heart.

* * *

With determination, Eomer succeeded in pulling himself into a full sitting position, then waited for the room to stop spinning around him. He'd slept the day away, and now, with night far gone, was impatient to be up and around. He wanted to check on Firefoot and the orcs for himself, wanted to see what the layout of the caves was really like from a defense perspective. 

Wanted to prove that he could at least stand, he admitted to himself, even if he still had no control over his arm.

Lisswyn slipped quietly into the room, and he looked up, a bit embarrassed that she'd caught him struggling just to sit up, but then, all he had to do was breathe loudly and someone came to check on him. How they knew when he was awake was a mystery.

"How are you?"

Impatient with the question – also asked every time his eyes were open – he bit back a sharp retort. "Unchanged, but weary of sleeping."

Wariness came into her eyes. Apparently he hadn't been as successful as he'd hoped in hiding his frustration.

"Due to your excellent care, I feel fine except for my arm," he said more gently, "but I'm unused to sleeping so much."

Noticing that she carried another mug of soup and more of the flat bread, he sighed. That was another given when they realized he was awake – they'd try to feed him.

"Perhaps you'd like something to eat, then?" she asked a bit uncertainly, setting the bread and soup on the floor as she settled next to him.

His expression must have given him away, for the hesitancy on her face deepened. "I'm sorry we have nothing else to offer you but the chicken stew and the bread," she began apologetically. "If we could reach our gardens—"

He held up his hand to stop her. "The soup and bread are fine." And they were. Someone in the caves was a very skilled cook. "There is simply a finite amount I can eat in one day, particularly when all I've done is sleep."

To his relief, amusement came into her eyes and her lips twitched. "I suppose we have been feeding you rather frequently."

He nearly grinned in response. "I've only just finished the bowl Maegwen brought me before she went to bed," he said, indicating the empty bowl near him.

Surveying the bowls near him, she let out a choked laugh. "Oh, my. I'm sorry, indeed."

"Don't be. As I said, I appreciate the care you've given me. But at the moment, eating any more is an impossibility. You, on the other hand…"

"What?"

"Unless I miss my guess, you haven't had any of that excellent stew, have you?"

"Not yet," she admitted.

He motioned to the bowl. "Then you will eat that," he said firmly. Their food stocks were clearly limited, and his suspicion that the women were going without in order to feed the children – and himself – was growing.

Her mouth opened, closed, then clearly recognizing his tone, she picked the bowl up, then hesitated. "I could take it into the other room, if you'd like to be alone."

"Please stay." He allowed humor back into his tone. "I'm tired of eating, I'm tired of sleeping, and I'm tired of being alone. I'd enjoy the company, and when you've finished your meal, perhaps you can take me to Firefoot. I know Andric has been taking care of him, but I would like to see him." Anticipating her next comment, he finished with, "It is time for me to get up, even if only for a short time."

Amusement came back into her eyes. "I was going to suggest the same thing, actually."

"Good." Her smiled tugged at him, made it easy to smile in return.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while she ate, then he glanced around. "Tell me how you came to be in the caves."

Her relaxed demeanor vanished, and when she answered her voice was careful, cool. "After the wildmen burned the village last spring, there simply weren't enough cots left for all of us."

He frowned. "But you and Brynwyn should have had refuge, at least. Your uncle told me he would take you in."

At the mention of her uncle, her tone went from merely cool to flatly chilly. "He placed …conditions on our staying with him. Conditions I did not wish to abide by." She sat the bowl down, and he was glad he'd waited until she was nearly finished before broaching the topic, since it appeared to have spoiled her appetite.

Baffled, both by her tone and her uncle's willingness to let his nieces live in caves, he said, "But you're his family."

She gave a short, impatient shake of her head. "He's not a blood relative. He is the husband of my father's sister."

"But still…" Something in her expression warned him, and he felt anger begin to churn low in his belly. His tone was sharp when he asked, "What were his conditions?"

She grimaced, hesitated, and he reached out and once more forced her to look at him. "You will tell me."

It wasn't easy for her, and he watched her struggle against the command before she finally answered in a clipped tone, "My aunt died two summers ago. He informed my father I would do as a replacement since it was clear I was never going to find a husband on my own." Embarrassed color came into her cheeks, and she jerked away from him, looked away. "My father told him I was free to choose my own husband, or not. My uncle was angry, but let it go until…"

"Until what?" She seemed to be fighting tears, and he wondered if it had been wise to pursue the subject. But he wanted to know.

She swallowed hard, but her voice was once more calm when she answered. "My father died in an orc raid only a few weeks before the wildmen came, and my uncle began repeating his demands. I held out…we had the cottage, my loom, our garden."

"Then the wildmen came and the cottage and loom were gone, and he made marriage a condition for giving you shelter." Remembering the way the man had mocked her in front of him, the deliberate attempt to humiliate her, he forced back the hot words that leapt up. The man had lied to him, had allowed him to believe he would care for them. He would answer for that. Oh, yes. He would. Eomer had been unable to protect and defend Eowyn from Wormtongue, but this situation he could rectify, and he relished the thought of doing so.

"He has told me that when we abandon the caves, he will still take us, providing I wed him. Many of the people in the village think me foolish, to choose the caves instead." Lisswyn said quietly, and he turned back to her. She was gazing toward the back of the caves, where her sister slept, and seemed to be speaking to herself. "I had to try, to see if we could do it, but if we can not, if it becomes clear we can not survive the winter here…" she turned back to him, her face clear, her voice calm. "I will not let my sister starve."

Admiration for her, and anger on her behalf made it hard to speak. "Lisswyn." He met her eyes, made the words as firm as possible. "That will not happen. I swear it."

She watched him, her eyes large in the shadows, but said nothing for a long moment as relief and hope chased across her face. "Thank you," she finally said simply. "There are still days when I think we can make it here…our people have dwelled in these caves in the past. But other days, I cannot figure out how we will do so, how we will make it through the winter," she ended on a frustrated sigh.

Eomer marveled that they'd made it as long as they had.

A noise from the back of the caves had her looking up. Gathering the bowls, she said, "I'm going to check on the others, then will return to assist you in standing." She gave him a warning look as she added, "You should not attempt it on your own, as you may be weaker than you expect."

He nodded. Sitting up had taken more effort than he'd expected, but he also knew that the only way to begin regaining his strength was to start pushing himself.

As he watched her leave, he knew from the careful way she held herself that she was in more discomfort than she was admitting to. And yet her thoughts were all for the others in the caves. For him. And beyond her compassion, there was a calm demeanor and practical approach to problem-solving that made it easy to believe those problems could be solved.

No wonder the other women seemed to look to her to lead them.

No wonder his own interest in her was growing.

He told himself it was because of how she was caring for him, that he felt indebted to her. That such interest was normal. But as the hours passed, he knew it was more than that.

She was full of contradictions. She could be hesitant and uncertain one moment, but bold enough to tease him the next. She could be shy, and yet carried a role of authority in the caves – among women older than she was. And she was altogether lovely.

The difficulty was not just that now was not the time for him to be noticing these things, that their situation was too precarious for him to be being distracted by anything unrelated to the orcs. It was that he wasn't sure he was free to notice such things about her at all.

And wasn't it ironic, that the King of the Riddermark seemed to have less freedom in matters of courtship than did his subjects?

Irritably, he pushed the thoughts away. There was no point in contemplating his interest in Lisswyn, nor wondering if she perhaps returned it. Not when he needed to focus on the orcs, and keeping the women and children in the caves safe. He glanced down at his immobile arm. Not when he didn't know if he was going to spend the rest of his life crippled.

He tried to imagine life with only one good arm, and could not. He had already discovered that he relied more on his arms than he had realized for balance. Would he be able to ride? The thought of never being able to sit a horse again caused his stomach to twist.

Yes. He would be able to ride. An Eorlingas could always ride, and Firefoot would see it as a personal failure if he fell while riding him. But what of fighting? Once he mastered his balance, he thought he could still use his sword. But doing so while on his horse would be more difficult.

And there were a thousand other things he had not even considered. How did a man with only one arm dress himself? Embarrassment heated his face at the thought of having to ask someone for assistance in such a personal task.

He looked down at his arm again. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on moving his left thumb. When sweat popped out on his forehead he collapsed back on the bedding. He had not succeeded in even causing a tremble.

No, now was not the time to be developing an interest in a woman, for many reasons.

He heard a noise, looked up. Lisswyn entered the room from the other direction, where the entrance to the outer cave was. Her face was pale, her eyes large and full of fear even in the dim light of the candles.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He struggled to sit back up, his eyes never leaving her.

"Eoden." Her voice trembled, and she made no effort to steady it. "I went to check on him, to see if he'd gotten some of the stew. He's not there. He was going to watch the orcs tonight. But he's not there. He's not in the caves. He's gone."

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know. A cliffhanger. But the next chapter will be along shortly, certainly before the weekend. I promise._

_Now for some individual replies to your reviews:_

_dferveiro: Thanks for the review. As I said at the top of this chapter, I will finish posting this – it's completely written. And generally, I'm going to try hard to post at least a chapter a week – but there may occasionally be weeks where that doesn't happen, particularly when I'm out of town. But don't give up on me. _

_madrone: The romancing begins to pick up a little in this chapter. I'm trying to balance the pace of the romance with the crises going on around them. _

_Dazzler420 and Lanse: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I hadn't specifically said how old Lisswyn and Brynwyn are because it hadn't worked its way into the story yet,but Brynwyn is six or seven, and Lisswyn twenty-one or twenty-two – past the normal age of marriage, which I'm guessing was seventeen to twenty._

_SmaryK: Thank you so much for your extensive comments. I truly appreciate them, and I also saw the review you posted for Beginnings. Concerning sentence fragments -- I don't want this to sound like I'm blowing off your feedback. I'm absolutely not! I'd always been told that the rules governing the use of fragments are looser in fiction than non-fiction, and tend to use them without thinking about it – I know they're there, but they're almost part of my voice/style as a writer. But your comments concerned me, and I did some research. A number of my favorite (well-known) authors use fragments (which doesn't necessarily give me the right to – they're published, and I'm not!) so then I turned to a good friend who's been teaching creative writing for many years (and has just had her first novel published) and she told me that in fiction, fragments can be part of what's called deep point of view – you want to sound like you're very much in the character's head, nearly first person (while still in third) and writing quickly and with fewer pronouns can help that, can help make it seem we're closer to that character's thoughts (as thoughts can be somewhat rushed and jumbled.) The critical point, though, is that it's only an effective technique if it works. If it's distracting to the reader, then it's not accomplishing anything, so I'm going to try to be much more careful about how I do it – though as I noted, I don't always catch it. But again, thank you for your comments – I'm sorry this reply is so long, but I so appreciate your taking the time to write out your feedback, I didn't want it to appear I was blowing it off. _

_Nienor Niniel: I'm glad you're enjoying the way I'm writing Lisswyn. I believe women can be strong and equal to men in worth, capability, and intelligence, while also being different from them. (If we're all exactly alike, where's the interest in that?) Also, thanks for your comments about not mutilating Tolkien. I'm a huge fan of the films, but was a fan of the books for many years prior to that, and it matters to me that I play as honestly as possible in Tolkien's world._

_Madrone, Nethien, ElvenRyder, seansbeanie, Legolas fan, Mesphia, Kay50, and any others I've missed…thank you so much for taking the time to leave reviews. They make my day. :)_


	8. The Village

_A/N: Another chapter, as promised. Thanks again for the reviews. You're very encouraging. :)_

_

* * *

_   
"You've checked all the caves? There's no chance he's not in one of the back rooms?" the King asked.

"No." Lisswyn rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath. Beat back the panic. "I just checked. We've had someone watching the orcs constantly, and he also would never have simply abandoned that duty without telling me."

"If the orcs had discovered him, they would already have found us as well."

He was trying to reassure her, and nodding, she turned, stared in the direction of the outer cave. Giving into fear would accomplish nothing. Eoden would still be missing. "He must have gone to spy on the orcs," she finally said, and heard despair in her voice. "He asked before and I told him no one should go, told him what you said about not leaving the caves. But he is a boy, and feels invincible. He also feels responsible for his mother and brother."

Hearing a noise, she looked over, saw the King trying to get to his feet. He'd braced himself with his good arm and rolled from a sitting position onto his knees, but his left arm flopped around and threw off his balance. In his weakened state, he couldn't seem to counter it, and he fell back onto the bedding, his expression furious.

Putting aside her worry over Eoden for the moment, she started toward him only to pause when she heard him swear under his breath. Mortification joined the frustration on his face when he realized she'd heard him.

Torn between scolding him for attempting to get up without assistance and in simply reassuring him, she settled for that latter. He might be a patient, but he was still the King. "Getting up off the floor is always more difficult than simply standing up, particularly when you're recovering from a fever. Once you're up a bit and regaining your strength, it will be easier even if your arm doesn't cooperate." Reaching down, she grasped his good arm behind the elbow. "Try again."

His scowl told her he was still embarrassed, but he braced himself against her and allowed her to help him stand. He wobbled, and she slipped her arm around his waist to steady him, tried not to think about how it felt to touch him in such a manner. His back was strong, his skin warm and firm to the touch. After a moment, he took a cautious step, then another, until he reached the wall. He leaned against it with a sigh.

"You'll get stronger."

He nodded, looked down, and as if for the first time, seemed to notice his bare chest, something Lisswyn, with her arm around him, was quite conscious of. "I suppose my garments have been destroyed?"

"Yes…it was necessary to remove them in order to care for your wound." He seemed steadier, so she stepped away for a moment. "But Maegwen brought you this." She held out a soft, well-worn shirt that had been next to his bed. "It may be too tight, but we have nothing else that would be a better fit." She shook the shirt out. "It was her husband's," she added softly.

He did not reply for a long moment. "She managed to keep it when none of you have many belongings." He took the shirt, held it silently. "My debt continues to deepen."

He looked down at his useless left arm, then looked at the shirt. Lisswyn saw a flush start up his face as he looked down at his useless arm, then looked at the shirt, and she wondered how to spare him additional embarrassment.

In a manner as casual as possible, she took the garment from him. Slipped the left arm over his hand, brought it carefully up his arm. "How likely is it that the orcs will hear Eoden?" She gently eased the shoulder of the shirt over his bandaged wound. Tried to distract them both from the intimacy of what she was doing. "He knows the path well and can be very quiet, but I don't know how far down it he will go." She slipped the opening over his head, but concentrated on the shirt itself rather than his eyes. Knowing he could slip his good arm into the shirt himself, she then looked away from him, toward the front of the cave. She heard the soft slide of the material, knew he was dressed. She turned back to him again, allowed her anxiety for Eoden to show.

He finished pulling the shirt down, looked at her. "That will depend on how quiet he is. How close he gets. And how many arguments there are among them this evening."

He glanced down at the shirt, then back at her. Met her eyes. "Thank you."

She knew it not the shirt itself he was thanking her for, and simply nodded before turning once more to thoughts of Eoden. "Will they kill him right away, do you think?" her voice trembled again, and she swallowed. How long should she wait before waking Maegwen to tell her her son was gone?

"They may not hear him," the King said quietly. Without her being aware of it, he'd moved closer to her. He'd still been bracing himself against the wall with his good hand, but now lifted it, rested it on her shoulder. "Let's not assume the worst, at least not until dawn is closer at hand and he still hasn't returned." He motioned toward the front of the cave. "In the meantime, someone still needs to keep his watch."

She took a deep breath, found his quiet words reassuring. Although Eoden shouldn't have left, the fact that he had done so didn't automatically mean he'd be caught. And they might learn something useful.

Together, they started toward the outer cave. The King was moving slowly, but as they progressed, his movements became steadier. He would probably tire easily, but was clearly making great progress. If only his arm would show signs of the same kind of healing.

They heard a noise of someone entering the caves, and the King stepped forward and in front of her, and Lisswyn looked at him in confusion as he blocked her view. Then she realized he was placing himself between her and whoever was coming.

She saw him relax before he stepped aside, allowing her to see Eoden. The boy had obviously been hurrying, and dropped to his knees, breathing hard, when he saw them.

The King's voice was quiet, but harsh. "What were you thinking? Do you want to be responsible for—"

Eoden's face was white, his eyes glassy with shock. Lisswyn raised her hand, cut the King off in mid-sentence. "Sire, please." She caught his startled, annoyed look out of the corner of her eye, but fixed her attention on the boy in front of her, still gasping for breath. She knelt next to him.

"Eoden? What is it?"

He looked at her, didn't speak, and she grabbed his hands, squeezed. Sensed the King come up beside them. "Eoden!"

The boy took another shuddering breath, glanced at the King. He was obviously trying to pull himself together. "They are looking for you, my Lord. They are convinced you must be in the area." He glanced around the cave. "They mentioned the caves, then an argument broke out. I believe they will eventually search here. At the moment, they do not think you could have made it up here by yourself."

Despite his attempt at calm, Lisswyn's stomach tightened as she looked at the boy she'd known since birth. It was not fear she saw in his eyes, but shock and grief. "What else, Eoden? What else did you hear?"

He looked back at her, didn't answer right away, appearing to struggle to get the words out, and when he finally spoke, his voice was flat and no longer that of a boy. "They burned what was left of the village this morning. The rest of the villagers...they slaughtered them all." He looked up at Eomer. "They believed the villagers were hiding you. Knew where you were." He closed his eyes, rubbed a trembling hand over his face. "They did not give them easy deaths."

A long moment of silence passed. Eoden stood, wavered in exhaustion and grief. "I need some water." He turned, walked toward the back of the cave. Lisswyn struggled to her own feet, moved to follow him. _A boy. He's still just a boy, and shouldn't be alone, _was her only coherent thought. But she didn't begin to know what to do for him.

"No." The King touched her back, his voice soft. "Let me go."

She looked up at him, saw the weight of guilt he carried. Nodded. "There is a small cave off to the side of the room we use as a kitchen. He goes there to be alone."

He nodded, hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. Lisswyn shook her head, motioned to the front of the cave. "I will keep watch."

Eomer moved unsteadily through the caves, looking for the one Lisswyn had referred to. These people had so little. And now, new grief awaited them when they woke. Grief, and death if Eoden was right about the orcs searching the caves. Guilt that they were suffering because of him and anger at his inability to help them rushed through him. Perhaps he should simply give himself over to the orcs. But if they knew he had been hiding here, they would search the caves anyway, just out of vindictiveness.

He found the kitchen, and noted the few food stores, then turned to the smaller cave to its side. Smaller indeed. There was barely room for the two of them to sit. He slipped in, eased down, grateful to be off his feet again. Wondered if he would ever be able to get back up.

It was dark but for the small fire burning in the next room, but in the shadows he could see Eoden sitting, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them. He did not look up when Eomer sat down next to him.

Eomer said nothing. Waited.

The boy's voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "I have..." he paused, swallowed. Corrected himself. "…I had a friend. He was like a brother to me." He looked up, and Eomer could see his eyes in the darkness, dry but full of anguish. "He would have died trying to protect his mother. His father died in the spring." He swallowed hard again, and Eomer saw a tear slide down his face, a tear he tried to surreptitiously wipe away.

"Tears are not a weakness, Eoden." Eomer's voice was soft.

The boy struggled. "They are useless." He looked up, wiped away another one. "You would not weep."

Remembering the Pelennor fields, Eomer said, "That is not so." He paused, burdened by the boy's admiration of him. Wondered that Eoden didn't seem to be understanding that these latest losses were because of him. Forcing his mind back to the boy sitting next to him, he tried to figure out what he could say, what could possibly make a difference. "Our tears are what make us different from the orcs, Eoden. They are proof that we care. That we know the value of a lost life. That we love. An acknowledgement that someone lived and died, and mattered."

The tears were falling faster. Eomer raised his arm, grateful the boy was sitting on his right side, where that was an option. He rested it on the narrow, bony shoulders, and waited.

Eoden's face crumpled with grief, and he turned into the comfort offered, buried his face in his king's shoulder, and wept.

* * *

Lisswyn stood in the shadows, stared out into the darkness. She could hear the orcs. Occasional screams, brief fights. Every once in a while, she would see the tell tale movement of torches as a smaller group moved away. In a detached fashion, she waited for the moment she would see some of those torches starting up the narrow path to the caves. Wondered if she should even bother waking up the others if she saw them coming. Perhaps it was best not to have too much time to fear.

The village was gone. There hadn't been much left of it, of course, but a few homes. A few people. The idea had still been there, though: "people live here. A community exists here." And now, there was nothing. Just a memory. And when she and the others in the caves were dead, as they surely would be before long, there would not even be that. No sign that a group of Eorlingas had once called that patch of ground home. Had lived and died, borne children and buried the elderly. No would know. Would remember.

She heard a step behind her, but did not turn. Felt the King's hand settle on her shoulder. Wondered that she felt nothing in response. It seemed like she should feel something. Gratitude for his concern, perhaps. But nothing was there.

"How is Eoden?" Her voice sounded flat, distant, even to her own ears.

"He sleeps."

Lisswyn nodded. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, down her back. Let it rest at her waist. Absently, she wondered if it was because he thought she needed the touch.

"How are you?" His voice was quiet.

She did not reply for a long time. "One of the women you have not yet met is Brecka. She is several years younger than I am." She paused, tried to find the words. It was surprisingly hard to concentrate, and she spared a moment to ponder why that was so. "After the fires last spring, her older brother's wife and children moved in with her and the rest of the family. There was not enough room, so Brecka came here, to the caves." She finally turned, looked up at him. "In the morning, I will have to tell her of their deaths. One of them was her twin sister. They both wanted to come. They'd never been separated before. But her mother convinced them it was foolish for both to come when they had room in the cottage for one of them."

Taking a deep breath, she spoke aloud what was haunting her. "They tortured them to death." She looked up at him, waited for the confirmation. Saw it in his guilt-stricken eyes. He looked years older than he had this morning.

He said nothing, however, but simply pulled her to him. It confused her. She was fine. Wasn't she?

Her face brushed against the soft shirt, felt the muscles underneath. His hand came up, rubbed her back. And something loosened inside her. A wild, terrifying grief that she tried to shove back down, and couldn't. And then the tears came. Ever aware of the dangers of noise, she pressed herself hard against him, stifled the sound. Registered that he was holding her as tightly as he could manage with only one arm, and had his cheek pressed against the top of her head.

She wept for all the recent losses -- her parents, her home, the men who had died in battle, the village, and her fading hope of a future.

And was unaware that the man holding her wept as well.

Lisswyn cried for a long time, wracking sobs wrenched from deep inside her. Eomer held her, pressed her face into his chest. He remembered Brynwyn's comment that her sister had not cried when their father died, nor when the wildmen burned their home. He thought that was coming out now, as well as the new grief for the loss of the rest of the villagers.

Initially, when he had pulled her to him, it had been out of a desire to offer her the one thing, the only thing, he could – comfort, much as he had offered the boy. He had not expected to find comfort for himself, had been surprised at how easy it was to bury his face in her hair and let the tears fall.

They were as much of rage as grief and guilt. He was bound to protect his people, and yet the remainder of a village had been wiped out because of him. And unless he could think of something quickly, the women and children in the caves were going to die as well.

Again, he considered slipping down the hill and offering himself to the orcs. It went against the grain, but would it not be worth it if it saved the lives of the innocents in the caves? But the orcs would know that someone had cared for him. He thought of what Eoden had told them about the village, and how the orcs had tortured the inhabitants, even once it must have been clear they knew nothing. No, his earlier assessment had been correct. His surrender would not save the women and children. The orcs would kill them anyway.

Lisswyn's tears had finally stopped, but she continued to lean against him. He found he didn't mind, and continued gently rubbing her back. Wondered if she wasn't half asleep.

Then she stirred and pulled away, wiping her face with the heel of her hand, looked up at him. They were in the shadows, a few feet away from the cave entrance, but there was enough reflected moonlight for him to see her features, dim though they were.

Her voice was very soft when she spoke, if still thick from the tears. "Sire, I'm sor—"

He touched a finger to her lips, halted her apology. Stared down at her in the darkness. Knew from the expression on her face when she registered the tracks of his own tears.

She looked at him for a long moment, then reached up and gently touched his cheek before turning away, as if regretting the action. She glanced around the cave before pointing to a spot near the wall. Still mostly in shadows, it gave them a partial view of the path down the cliff without exposing them. They moved over, settled quietly against the wall.

For a while, they were quiet, both listening for any change in the sounds from the orc camp. Then Lisswyn sat up, looked at the entrance. Silently, she crawled over to the edge, looked down the path, then up.

Up? Eomer frowned, waited. She seemed to be pondering something.

Finally, she slipped back, motioned him further away from the opening where there was less chance of their voices carrying. He joined her a few feet back. There was excitement in her eyes.

"My lord," her voice was soft, but animated. "I did not mention this earlier because I did not see how it could help. There is a path that goes up, to the top of the cliffs – the one I took to find the healing herbs. I believe some of us could hide up there." Noting his speculative look, she continued, a little more soberly. "It is not an escape, Sire. The only way down is the path where I fell, and your horse could not navigate it. I'm also not sure all of the women and children could do so. But it might be possible for you and some of the others to hide up there when the orcs come."

It dawned on him what she was saying, and he went mute with shock and outrage, nearly missing her next words.

"We could not all go because it would be obvious someone had been in the caves recently, and they would only follow us." She was watching him closely. "But if a few of us remained here, they would have no way of knowing how many of us there had been. Or if we were all still here."

He tried to calm himself, did not quite succeed. Congratulated himself that his response was at least quiet. "Let me be clear on this." He was forcing the words through clenched teeth. "You are suggesting that I leave a few of you down here, to be tortured to death, while I cower and hide in safety?"

Struggling to his feet, he turned, stalked away. He could not always control his temper, but he did know when to put distance between himself and the unlucky person who was about to become his target. He considered slamming his fist into the cave wall, but knew he dare not. He was facing battle with only one good arm. He could not afford to injure his other hand as well. But the desire to strike out at the fates that had placed him in this position was fierce.

Eomer looked back at her, half expecting to see tears or trembling. She was pale, but had gotten to her feet as well and was now standing quietly where he had left her.

He reached her in three long strides. "I do not know what I have done to earn the opinion you seem to have of me, but I am not the coward you take me for." He spit the words out, then turned back toward the cave entrance.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, and he turned, glared at her. Wondered if she really had any idea how livid he was, how hard he was struggling to keep his anger in check.

"My lord, I do not think you a coward." Her voice was soft, but he caught the tremble in it. "In fact," he watched as a blush caught her cheeks, "you are the bravest man I know."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "And yet you suggest I hide while others die in my place?" He sneered the words, his anger and insult renewed.

She looked at him steadily. Sadly. "Sire, I do not mean to insult you. But we can not be without a strong king. It is not just the man I think to protect, but our sovereign." She looked away, as if gathering strength. "If I die, only a few women, and Brynwyn," she swallowed hard, looked back at him, "will grieve – if they do indeed live. If you die, the entire Riddermark will suffer."

His rage drained away. She was wrong about only the women and Brynwyn grieving for her if she died. But she was making a valid point, even if it was not one he was willing to consider. "Lisswyn, if I did what you suggest, I would not be the strong king the Mark needs." His voice was tight, tired. "And I would not be able to live with myself."

"But you would be alive." He looked at her, startled by how close to begging she sounded.

"No." His voice flat, he turned again, walked to the front of the cave. He was trapped. No matter what he did, more of his people were going to die. And his impotence in the face of that enraged him.

He paced back to her. There was a single tear on her cheek, and it baffled him. Was she weeping for him? For the Riddermark? For Brynwyn? For herself? He gently brushed it aside with his thumb.

"You have a point about some of the women and children possibly being able to escape. But I will not be hiding with them." She opened her mouth to speak, he pressed a finger against her lips to silence her. "If I do not survive, Elessar of Gondor will reassign the Prince of Ithilien to Edoras so my sister can rule. Rohan will be safe. But if not, not even for the Riddermark could I so abandon my honor as to hide while you died in my place."

She closed her eyes, bowed her head, nodded. He gently tipped her head back up. "And even if I did agree to such a plan, the orcs would torture you as they did the villagers." Just the thought of which turned his stomach. "They would learn where I was hiding."

Lisswyn jerked away from him, plainly offended. "I would not give away your hiding place!"

"Do not be so certain about that on which you have not been tested," he murmured, then added, "Lisswyn, I do not doubt your courage. How could I given what you have just offered?" He turned her toward him. "But I will not allow you to suffer in that way." He frowned. "My hope is that once they have me, they will not bother torturing the rest of you."

He stared down at her for a long moment, desperately tried to think of another way, another plan. Could not. Bile rose up in his throat at the realization that the best he could hope to give her was an easy death instead of torture. "We will send as many of the women and children as we can to hide on top of the cliffs. Those who volunteer to do so can stay and fight" _and die_, his mind added, "to give the others a chance."

He sighed. "It is the best we can do. Perhaps some will live, and that is better than all dying.


	9. Preparations

_A/N: I leave for two weeks' vacation on Monday. I'll have my laptop with me and am hoping to post at least one and possibly two chapters while I'm gone (depending on how much revision/editing I get done) but if I don't, don't despair. I return on Monday the 19th, and will be posting regularly after that._

* * *

Hearing soft sounds of movement behind him, Eomer turned from the cave entrance where he had been keeping watch, and frowned when he saw the women were assembling in the room right behind the cave entrance. It would have been better, safer, if they had met in one of the back caves. But then, from what he'd seen earlier, most of the other caves were quite small. Maybe this was the only room that would hold them all. At least it would allow him to listen in on the discussion while still being aware of any orc movement on or near the path to the cliffs. 

He moved nearer, took a closer look at the women. Lisswyn had not yet returned, but Maegwen and Hilde had entered with four other women. One was rather obviously with child, and he could not prevent a grimace. Had _all_ their men died in the war? Eoden and Andric followed, and settled quietly next to Maegwen. Eoden's face still bore the evidence of his earlier grief, and Eomer saw the younger boy's anxious looks toward his brother. Then they both looked up, looked across the room at him. He met their glances, wondered again what he could do that might yet somehow make a difference in this situation.

Several of the women had obviously been crying, but Maegwen and Hilde both simply looked grim. The pregnant woman was pale, but dry-eyed. Perhaps if you were pregnant and had already lost a husband to orcs, wildmen or battle, the knowledge that the rest of your village had been destroyed was a more minor concern.

Lisswyn entered, her arm around a very young woman. This must be Brecka. Her arms were wrapped around her waist as if for comfort, her eyes glassy with shock. He tried to imagine the loss of a twin, and could not. He remembered finding Eowyn unexpectedly on the battlefield, knew that as deep as his bond with his sister was, it must be weak in comparison to what this woman had shared with her twin.

Maybe it would have been better if the orcs had succeeded in killing him during the initial attack. He didn't have a death wish, but the thought of loss much loss on his behalf was unbearable.

Lisswyn settled Brecka next to the pregnant woman then crossed over to stand next to him. She was pale, but when she spoke, her words were quiet and composed. "As Hilde and Maegwen have told you, the orcs destroyed what was left of the village this morning."

"Do we know that for certain? Perhaps Eoden misheard." The woman sitting closest to him asked the question, and he saw other heads go up. Hope could be a powerful thing.

Eoden did not respond to the implied challenge in the question, only gazed quietly at the woman. Did any of them understand that the very fact that the boy didn't feel the need to defend his report answered the question of its validity?

"No. We do not know for certain. There may still be some alive, or some who were away from the village for some reason. But what Eoden heard was the orcs laughing and boasting about the destruction they wrecked there yesterday afternoon," her voice faltered, "and some details on how many of them died."

He turned his gaze at her, noted her struggle for composure. She must have asked Eoden for some of those details, and anger flared again that he had not been able to spare her that, at least. But then, maybe she would have felt it necessary to know. And given what they were facing, perhaps it was her right.

"Eoden also heard the orcs discussing these caves." One of the women gasped, others simply seemed to freeze. The pregnant woman dropped her head into her hands in despair, while Brecka stared at the floor in front of her as if nothing in the conversation was really reaching her.

Lisswyn continued. "That must now be our pressing concern, not our grief for the village. The orcs have not searched here before because they do not believe the King could have made it up the path by himself. But sooner or later, they will do so."

"Then we are all dead," The woman who had challenged Eoden's report spoke, her voice weary.

Lisswyn slowly shook her head. "Maybe. But maybe not." She hesitated. "There is a chance… for some of us."

They all looked up at that, even Brecka.

"The orcs have no way of knowing how many of us are here." She paused again, seemed to struggle for a long moment, then turned to him, a desperate plea in her eyes.

Eomer understood. It was one thing to come up with a plan that might save some. It was altogether different to ask the rest to volunteer to die. This was something he could spare her.

He turned to the women. "Some of you can leave the caves, slip up to the top of the cliffs, hide there." He saw hope move through the room again. Grimly prepared to kill it. "But if you all go, they will know you were here, will know where you have gone. And you will be trapped there."

"I do not understand, sire. What is the point, then?" The pregnant woman asked the question, a look of confusion on her face.

"Some of us will need to stay here in order to allow the others to flee to safety." Hilde's voice was flat.

The room went quiet for a long moment as the women finally understood what was being proposed. Expressions of horror, shame, guilt, and fear came and went on their faces.

He spoke quietly. "It is me that they want, and if I believed I could save you by giving myself to them, I would." Some shocked expressions at that. Hilde shook her head in denial. "But I do not know enough about the motivation of the orcs, or what is driving them. I do not even know where they came from." He looked around, did not bother to hide his frustration. "We knew that there were still pockets of orcs alive, but had no indication they were this well organized. I can not predict their behavior, but the fact that they destroyed the village even once it was clear I was not there, had not been there, does not give me much hope that if I give myself to them that they will spare you."

"But if they find me here with a few of you, I do not believe they will search further for others." He glanced at them, met their eyes one by one.

"How many of us need to stay?" The pregnant woman asked the question, and Eomer's stomach knotted. Orcs took a particularly vicious delight in how they killed a woman with child. She would _not _be staying behind.

"The more of your belongings you can carry, the fewer who need to stay behind," Lisswyn answered. "There must be enough of us here to make it look believable, and there must not be so many possessions as to make it obvious there have been more here than they are seeing."

A long moment of silence passed. Several of them looked down, and he saw guilt, shame, and fear on their faces as they struggled with the question of whether to volunteer.

Then Eoden stood. He glanced down at his mother, his expression somber and unapologetic. "I heard them gloating about the destruction of the village." He did not ask for permission, simply moved over to stand next to Lisswyn.

Eomer watched Maegwen, watched her struggle to accept that her son was no longer a child, no longer hers to direct.

Then Andric stood, also looked down at his mother, his face troubled, anxious, torn. He said nothing, simply walked over to stand by his brother.

Maegwen dropped her eyes for a moment. When she looked back up, she glanced first at her sons, then Eomer. Then she stood. "I have sent two sons into battles from which they did not return. I will not walk away from these two." And she moved over to stand next to the boys. Andric walked around her, placed her between himself and Eoden. Rested his hand on her shoulder.

Silence descended again. Brecka stood, walked over to stand with them. She said nothing, allowed the grief and despair on her face to speak for her.

Then Hilde stood, started to speak, stopped at Lisswyn's sound of distress.

"Brynwyn." Her voice thick with tears she was suppressing, Lisswyn held out her hand as if entreating the other woman.

A long look passed between them, and then Hilde nodded, slumped back down on the floor.

Lisswyn glanced back at the other women. Seeming to understand their feelings, she said, "You all have small children." The pregnant woman glanced at her stomach a bit ruefully in response, then back up as Lisswyn continued, her voice still soft. "Your role is to survive, to keep the children quiet and alive. It is another kind of defeat for the orcs." She turned to him for confirmation, and Eomer could only nod. There was nothing he could add. She had found a way to spare them shame and guilt.

Hilde stood. "We should begin gathering our belongings." She walked out without waiting for anyone else.

"Hilde is right. The sooner you can leave, the greater the chance of all of you reaching the top of the cliffs in safety."

The others rose from their positions on the floor and began to exit, talking quietly among themselves. Eomer noted one of them stopping to help the pregnant woman to her feet. Then Maegwen and the others who were staying drifted away as well, presumably to help in the packing process.

He looked down at Lisswyn.

"By your own standard, you should go with them." She looked confused, and he continued. "You made a point of sending all the women with young children up the path. But you yourself have a child to care for."

She glanced away, toward where the others had gone. Then she turned back to him, allowed him to see her grief. "You said that you would not be able to live with yourself if you went with those who hid. These women are my family, this was my idea. I cannot leave." She paused, swallowed. "Hilde will care for Brynwyn," she murmured. She turned and followed the others out.

He watched her go, knew there was no response he could make. He thought again of her willingness to die in his place, and the quiet comment she had made about no one grieving for her. It was a sharp blow to discover just how untrue that was, and to be unable to do anything about it – either the death she was almost certainly facing, or the feelings he was starting to have for her.

He walked back to the cave entrance. There was still no movement from the orc camp, at least not toward the path to the caves. What were they doing? Where were they from? Had any of his men made it back to Edoras? He'd give anything for answers to even a few of the questions that were plaguing him.

There was a noise behind him, and he turned, watched Eoden walk up to him. The boy stared out at the darkness for a long moment, his body tense, his fists clenched. "I do not want my mother and brother to stay."

"That is not your choice to make," Eomer replied quietly.

"They will die because of me, because I chose to stay." There was desperation and heartbreak in his voice.

"Some needed to stay, Eoden, to give the others a chance."

"I heard what the orcs did. Heard how much they enjoyed the killing." His voice went very quiet. "I know I am going to die. I am not trained to fight." He looked down at his fists, and his tone hardened. "But if I can kill just one of them before they take me, I will consider it worth it."

Eomer said nothing for a long while. Wondered what he could say. It grieved him that this fine boy was not going to live to adulthood. That it was not enough that the Riddermark had been deprived of its adult men, but that now its boys and young men were dying as well. He would have enjoyed watching Eoden turn into the kind of man he was so proud to lead.

Finally, he reached out with his good hand, clasped the boy on the shoulder. "I do not know what fate awaits us, Eoden. And with everything in me, I wish there were a way to spare all of you." He hesitated. "But if this is the way it is to be, if we are to die here, I will consider it an honor to have you next to me when the orcs find us."

It took a moment for the boy to respond. He swallowed. "Thank you, my lord."

Eomer dropped his hand, looked down. "You mentioned that Lisswyn has a sword, but that none of you know how to wield it."

Eoden nodded. "The sword she took from the wildman you saved her from last spring. She kept it, figuring it was at least a weapon. But none of us really knows how to fight with it. Lisswyn has a long hunting knife, she will use that. She defended herself from a pack of wild dogs with it, feels more comfortable with it."

"Go get the sword. I will show you how to hold it."

Eoden looked hopeful at the thought, but as he turned to leave, they heard a noise like a quiet cry from the back of the caves. It was soft, but any noise was unusual.

Eomer looked at him. "Stay here and watch. I will go."

He noted Eoden's nod as he started toward the back. There was quiet activity in most of the rooms as the women packed and sorted their possessions, but none of them had been responsible for the noise he'd heard.

Then he came to one of the rooms the women slept in, and paused in the door. Lisswyn was kneeling in front of Brynwyn, and as he watched, he saw her rub her eyes in weariness.

The little girl had her arms crossed in front of her chest, a mutinous look on her face. It was the first time he'd seen her anything but compliant. She stamped her foot. "No. I am not leaving you."

"Brynwyn, you must go." Lisswyn tried to make her voice firm, but he heard the tremor in it.

"Not unless you come." There were tears just behind the defiance.

Lisswyn reached out, touched Brynwyn's cheek. "I can not."

"Why?"

Lisswyn swallowed. "This was my idea. It would be wrong of me to leave."

"Then I want to stay, too." A tear fell and she rubbed it away impatiently with the heel of her hand, and Eomer wondered if Lisswyn recognized the move as one she made.

"Brynwyn…" Lisswyn paused, steadied herself. "I can only do this if I know you're safe. I need you to be safe, to be well."

"You said you wouldn't leave me. When papa died. You said."

Eomer watched the accusation strike Lisswyn like a physical blow, and wished desperately for a way to help. Wished, even now, that he could come up with a plan that would spare them all. The bitter taste of failure coated his tongue.

Lisswyn had lost the battle against tears. "I know." It came out as a whisper as she reached out with an unsteady hand, stroked her sister's hair. "I'm sorry. I meant that promise with all my heart. But I should not have promised something not in my power to keep."

Brynwyn started to sob, and moved into Lisswyn's arms. Lisswyn held her tight, her face pressed in her sister's shoulder. After a long moment, Lisswyn moved back a little, wiped the little girl's face. "I must stay here. But I need to know you're safe. You and Hilde. You have to take care of each other. Do you understand?"

At Brynwyn's nod, Lisswyn cleared her throat before continuing. "And there's one thing you must always remember." He saw Lisswyn swallow. "No matter what happens, you must never forget how much I loved you. And mama and papa did, too. Will you remember that?"

The little girl nodded again, wiped her tears on her sleeve, even as she continued to clutch at Lisswyn.

Belatedly, it occurred to Eomer that he was watching an intensely private moment, but he could not bring himself to leave.

Lisswyn kissed Brynwyn, then stood. Took a deep breath. "You must go help Hilde pack. I will be there in a moment. And I will see you again before you go."

Brynwyn nodded, pulled away. Without looking back, she turned, left the room. Lisswyn watched her go, then scrubbed her face with her hands.

And Eomer knew it was not only the youngest sister whose heart was breaking.

He hesitated for a moment. He was reluctant to leave her alone, but was unsure of whether she would welcome his presence. She wiped her cheeks again, sighed. And he started toward her, needing to do or say something.

Lisswyn looked up, startled to see the King coming toward her. Her cheeks flushed. "Sire…I did not hear you come in." She looked away, then back. "All you ever see are my tears." She muttered the words, wiped the last of them from her eyes.

He stopped next to her, stared down at her with a somber expression on his face. "I do not find that surprising, given our current situation."

He hesitated, then reached out, pulled her to him. Lisswyn resisted for a moment, then dropped her head onto his shoulder with a sigh. She should pull away. Should not allow such familiarity, should not encourage her heart to dream dreams that could never see fruition. He was simply being kind, trying to offer what comfort he could.

But it was hard to recall why any of that mattered when she would most likely not live to see the sun set again.

"Brynwyn will be fine. Hilde is a good woman." His voice was soft.

She battled and won another battle against tears. Nodded.

Silence fell, and for a long moment they just stood that way. And Lisswyn found her grief eased by his touch.

It made no sense – they were still going to die. But something about being able to rest her head on his shoulder for a moment, of feeling his arm around her, renewed her courage. Gave her the ability to face saying goodbye to the rest of the women and children.

She pulled away from him a bit, aware that his arm was still around her, and looked up. "Thank you," she said softly.

He looked down at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He said nothing, then his arm tightened around her again for a brief moment as he leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead. Releasing her, he turned and walked back toward the front of the caves.

Lisswyn's heart stuttered, then raced, as she felt the blood rush into her cheeks again. Knowing it was foolish in the extreme, she could not resist reaching up and brushing the area of her forehead that could still feel the touch of his lips.

It meant nothing. It was desperately important that she remember that. But as she walked back to check on how the packing was going, she was not completely sure her heart believed it.

* * *

The women were gathering toward the front of the caves, preparing to leave, when Eomer sought out Hilde. She looked up from the bag she was securing, plainly a bit flustered to find the King waiting to speak to her.

"My lord?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then held out his hand. Puzzled, she looked at it, realized he was holding a small bag. She took it, glanced up at him.

"It is my seal." He glanced toward the entrance, then back to her. "Sooner or later, my men will come, will hunt until they find me or establish what happened." His voice was quiet. "When they come, tell them all that has happened here. Of my injury, of your efforts to help me, of the loss of the village." He nodded toward the seal. "Tell them that those of you who survive are under my protection, are to be treated as my kin."

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could speak, he turned and stalked out. Hilde looked down at the seal, then closed her hand tightly around it.


	10. Waiting

_A/N: As promised, the next part. I haven't had as much time to pick over it as I usually do, so I'll apologize in advance for any errors. As for the next part, it's not looking like I'm going to have as much time to write as I'd hoped, so it may be week after next before I get the next bit posted. Hopefully this won't leave you terribly frustrated. I want to get this posted, and so will respond to reviews in the next part, but please know how much I appreciate the fact that you're enjoying it and taking the time to say so. :)_

_

* * *

_  
Standing quietly in the shadows of the cave, Eomer watched the departure of the women and children. They were silent, even the smallest of the children picking up on the mood of the adults around them. There were no tears.

Brynwyn and Hilde were the last to go, and he watched Lisswyn again kneel before her sister. But instead of reaching out, the little girl only stared at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Lisswyn gathered her and held her stiff form close for a moment before releasing her and stepping back. She exchanged a look with Hilde, and then the older woman touched Brynwyn on the shoulder before turning for the cave entrance.

But as she turned to go, Brynwyn looked back at Eomer. Her face was blank, her look a hopeless one that broke his heart. And then they too were gone.

He turned and stalked back to the furthest cave from the entrance, feeling rage and helplessness eating away at his self-control. He was the King of Rohan. He had played a significant role in the war against Sauron, indeed, had been victorious in some of the greatest battles of his time. And it infuriated him that he could not find a way to save the lives of a handful of women and children.

The desire to lash out was fierce, but even as he felt his grip on his self-control sliding away, he knew he dare not make noise or vent the way his fury demanded. He paced around the small space, wishing desperately that he was out on the plains, riding hard and fast across the land on the back of Firefoot, his preferred method of releasing temper.

His speed increased, even as some part of his mind acknowledged the ridiculousness of the ever tightening circle he was going in. And then he stumbled over a bedroll. Grabbing it, he heaved it at the nearest wall with all of the strength he could muster, could not prevent a growl of absolute frustration from erupting as he did so. And found himself stumbling again as his bad arm flopped around uselessly and threw off his balance.

For a moment, he thought he was going to end the undignified temper tantrum by falling flat on his face, but he managed to twist and land against the wall, where he leaned, breathing hard and feeling weak, as the adrenalin from the anger drained away and reminded him that he was only recently up from the sick bed.

Tiredly, he rubbed a hand over his face. Would he ever learn to control his temper, learn that venting it didn't accomplish much?

He heard a noise and looked over to see Eoden standing in the door holding a crudely made sword. The look on his face indicated all too clearly that he'd been there for awhile, had witnessed Eomer's fit of temper.

Heat crawled up his neck. "Eoden." He cleared his throat, struggled to think of something that could justify the lack of control the boy had just witnessed. He sighed, pushed away from the wall. Tried not to wobble on legs that suddenly felt unsteady. "Forgive me." He glanced away, back, allowed the boy to see his frustration. "It angers me that I can think of no way to save you all."

Eoden stared at him for a moment, his features dim in the candlelight. Then he nodded, stepped into the room. "I understand, Sire.".

As he came closer, Eomer noted on his face the signs of a recent fight. His face was scratched, it seemed possible he was going to have a black eye, and his other cheek was red as well.

Eomer frowned, reached out and touched one of the scratches, then raised his eyebrow.

Eoden flushed, looked down. "I fought with my brother. I want him to take our mother and leave." His embarrassment deepened. "Mama found us and boxed our ears."

It was hard to know what to say. "I understand why you want them to go." Eomer looked over at the bedroll. "But as much as I wish it to be different, if all of you go, most likely none of you will survive. It is their choice as it is yours, and you must respect that."

Eoden nodded, and they stood in silence as Eomer tried to think of something else to say. Some bit of wisdom that would help. He finally accepted there simply wasn't any, and looked down at the sword the boy carried. On closer inspection, he recognized it as the one Lisswyn had taken from the wildman he'd saved her from in the spring. "Let me see the sword."

* * *

Lisswyn was helping Brecka redistribute their belongings throughout the caves to make it appear that the few of them who'd remained behind had always been the only inhabitants.

She was refusing to think about Brynwyn, or the little girl's stiffness when they'd parted. The only way she was going to get through the next hours was by not allowing her emotions, her fear, her anguish, to surface.

"Lisswyn."

She looked up, saw the king standing in the door. "Yes, sire?"

He glanced down at his useless arm, then back at her, his face neutral and unreadable. "Do you have any more bandages or long strips of cloth?"

Puzzled and concerned, she nodded. "I believe so. Has someone been injured?"

"The arm throws off my balance. I believe I would do better if it were bound to my side." The words were tight, forced.

Sorrow for him seeped through the wall she was trying to build around her emotions, but she only nodded. She looked at Brecka. "Can you bring me the strips of cloth that are out by my healing pouch – where the King was sleeping earlier?"

The girl nodded and slipped out, and Lisswyn walked closer to the King. "There is no control over it at all? Not even in the fingertips?"

Irritation and frustration flashed across his face, and for a moment, she thought he was going to snap at her. Instead, he only gave an abrupt shake of his head.

She knew better than to respond, instead said, "If you truly want it to be made immobile, we should probably secure it to you under the shirt. The shirt can then provide another layer of binding."

He nodded, and she reached down, took his left hand, began pulling the sleeve of the shirt off. His fingers felt warm to her touch, making it hard to believe he had no control over them.

Desperate for something that would distract her, distract them both, from what she was doing, she said, "I saw you with Eoden and the sword."

He nodded. "He has some natural skill. It would be easy to teach him to defend himself …if we had more time," he ended with a grimace.

His fingers caught on the hem of the sleeve, and she carefully threaded the sleeve over them. As she did so, she accidentally brushed her fingers lightly across his palm, and felt him jump at the sensation. Then his fingers, apparently of their own accord, awkwardly curved in, grasped her hand.

They both froze. "Sire?"

But he was looking down at his fingers in amazement, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He released her hand, then squeezed it again. It was obvious from the clumsy nature of the movement that he did not have a great deal of control, but he did have some.

Lisswyn smiled, delighted, as he squeezed and relaxed his fingers a few more times, refused to think about anything other than the wonder that he was regaining control over the arm. Like how it felt for him to be holding her hand.

He released her, looked at her with despair back on his face. "It seems unlikely that it will be sufficiently restored to be useful in our defense against the orcs."

She hesitated. "Perhaps I should bind it outside your shirt, though, where it would be easier to free should more control return."

Eomer shook his head. "I have seen men regaining the use of a limb after the poison. It is good to know it is starting to come back, but it will almost certainly take several days, at least, before I regain full control over it." His expression was bitter, acknowledging what he did not say: that they almost certainly did not have several days yet to live.

Lisswyn nodded, and continued removing the sleeve of the shirt. Once his arm was free, she slipped the shirt up, rested it on his shoulder. Looked away from his bare chest as Brecka hurried back into the room holding the cloth that had been piled by the King's bed.

"Thank you," She murmured to the girl.

Taking one of the longest strips of cloth, she turned back to him, eyed his broad chest.

He was the king, she was only his healer. She repeated the words to herself as she took one end of the bandage and held it next to his left arm, then moved close to him to wrap it around his back in an effort to bring it full circle. She couldn't quite reach, and found herself pressing closer to him in order to do so. It was utterly impossible not to be aware of the intimacy of their position, and she felt a blush scald her face.

Refusing to look at him, she stepped back, secured the strip to the end she was holding at his left arm, then walked around him, making another loop. From behind him, she asked, "Is that too tight?" She had to force the words through her embarrassment, but at least it was easier than facing him.

"No. It's fine."

He cleared his throat, and she wondered if it was good or bad that it appeared he was as embarrassed as she was.

She bound him with one more strip, further down on the arm, but this time reached around him from the back. It was only marginally less embarrassing to feel her breasts pressing against his back, and she felt her face flame again.

At the same time, the sensation affected her in other ways, and she found herself longing to be back on the other side, pressed against him while he held her to him. Impossibly, her blush deepened, her embarrassment now mixed with shame that she could feel such things given his identity and their situation.

It was affecting Eomer, too, and he was mortified that it was going to be apparent when she walked back to his front. He shifted, focused on a part of the cave wall that was particularly uneven, and gritting his teeth, forced himself to think of the orcs. He was grateful Lisswyn seemed to be taking her time tying off the binding. It had not occurred to him that it would be necessary for her to reach around him in such a manner until it had been too late.

His own response to her had surprised him. Always before he'd been able to sublimate physical responses to women, particularly when facing any kind of battle. What was wrong with him?

He didn't know. He only knew there was something about the feelings she inspired in him that made him more aware of her than he could afford to be. He had seen her own reaction before she moved around to his back, and knowing that she was aware of and affected by their proximity as well had not helped.

She walked back around him, and without meeting his eyes, reached up to pull the shirt back down, stretching it a bit to ease over the bulk of his arm. Desperate that she not look down and accidentally see something he'd rather her not see, he took the edge of the shirt and pulled it down himself, knocking her hand away and partially turning from her as he did so.

She moved away from him and began gathering up the rest of the cloth, but not before he saw her hurt at the way he'd brushed her aside. He finished adjusting the shirt, shifted his lower half a little more. Thought briefly about plunging into the cold spring he'd seen earlier in one of the caves..

She had finished collecting the pieces of cloth and was turning to leave.

"Lisswyn."

She stopped, her back to him. "I'm sorry for the way that happened, sire. I should have had Eoden and Andric assist you."

She thought he was angry at her for the way she had brushed against him. Wearily, he rubbed his face, tried to figure out how to handle the situation. Without saying anything else, she started toward the cave door.

"Lisswyn." She halted again. "Please come here."

Obviously reluctant, she turned and walked back toward him, her eyes anywhere but on his face. Hurt, embarrassment and shame were all displayed on her face, and he wondered how he could reassure her without giving away more of how he was feeling than was wise.

They were going to die. _She _was going to die because she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, had tried to help him. He would do anything to spare her, and it wasn't going to be enough. What did it matter if he revealed some of his confusion to her?

He moved closer, reached out and took her chin, and forced her to look at him.

"You did nothing wrong."

Her blush increased, but she swallowed, nodded, apparently at a loss for words. He remembered some of the glances he'd caught her giving him, the way she'd allowed him to hold her while she cried earlier, before she'd backed away. He suspected that the blushes meant she was not indifferent to him, and experienced a moment of intense frustration that the orcs were not going to allow them to explore those feelings in a normal fashion.

Experiencing a sense of hopelessness that was rare for him, he slid his hand over her cheek and around to the back of her neck. If they were really going to die, he would give them both this before the orcs arrived.

He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers, felt her start. When he lifted his head, he saw uncertainty come into her eyes before her gaze drifted down, settled on his mouth.

It was enough. He lowered his head and kissed her again, took it deeper, sank into her in stages. There was warmth here, and a shy welcome. To his delight, she slid her arms around him as she responded with a tentativeness that told him this was all very new to her.

That realization unleashed an unexpected tenderness in him, and he gentled the kiss, lingered for another long moment before slowly lifting his head. He sighed, then rested his forehead against hers as he slid his hand around to cup her cheek again, stroked the soft skin. Her eyes were closed, blocking her thoughts from him.

He pulled away a little, and her eyes opened. She gazed up at him, a look of both confusion and wonder on her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "So damn sorry I can't figure out how to save you." He pressed a hard kiss onto the top of her head and stalked out.


	11. Arrival of the Orcs

_A/N: Thank you for your patience while I was out of town. Another chapter should be along this weekend._

* * *

Lisswyn watched the King leave, and tried to form coherent thoughts about what had just happened. But her mind simply kept circling back to one thought: he had kissed her. Thoroughly. She brought her fingers up and touched her lips, where she could still feel the imprint of his mouth, could still taste him. Laid her hand on her heart, could feel it pounding. 

What did it mean? It must mean something…mustn't it?

Remembering how she'd pressed against him while strapping his arm, her face heated with shame. Was it possible he had kissed her because he thought she'd deliberately teased him?

No. He had told her she'd done nothing wrong in that respect. Of course, he didn't know how much she'd enjoyed it, but he hadn't been upset with her for it.

She turned at a noise and saw Maegwen hesitating in the opening to the next cave, a knowing expression on her face, her eyes concerned.

Despite her embarrassment, Lisswyn didn't pretend to misunderstand. There was no point in acting as if her oldest friend didn't know her well enough to see what was no doubt apparent on her face. Still, she had to clear her throat before she could speak. "It didn't mean anything," she answered her own question. He was the king, she a village woman. There was really nothing it could mean.

Maegwen walked slowly over to her, appeared to measure her words carefully. "You may have been too distracted by the death of your father and the loss of the cottage to remember it, but after Theodred's death last spring, there was much discussion among the villagers about the character of the new heir to the throne." Her voice was quiet. "He does not have a reputation of being casual with women, Lisswyn."

As the implication of the words set in, Lisswyn felt her heart twist in her chest, and struggled to take a deep breath as confusion and a wondering hope of things she could not quite articulate, even to herself, chased through her mind.

Maegwen's expression had turned to one of compassion and pity, and comprehension crushed the sense of wonder. "It doesn't matter what it means, or could have meant," Lisswyn said flatly. "We're still going to die."

There was a long pause before Maegwen spoke. "Death comes, regardless," she finally said quietly. "But love endures, its value unchanged by lives cut short."

Lisswyn looked up and saw her friend's eyes were now distant, focused on things only she could see, and knew she referred to her husband and the sons who'd been lost. Then Maegwen turned back to her, gave a half-smile. "Nor is the value of new and uncertain relationships, or even of old friendships, undone by death," she added gently.

Lisswyn swallowed and forced back the tears that wanted to come as Maegwen turned, walked back toward the main cave.

The orcs were still coming. But if she had to die, she would do so with the memory of his kiss in the forefront of her mind. Maegwen was right. No matter what happened, there had been tenderness and care in his kiss, and she would not let the orcs steal the pleasure of it even as they stole her life.

She walked through the caves, forced her thoughts away from the kiss to their preparations to defend themselves against the orcs...if you could call a stockpile of wood to use as burning firebrands a defense.

The others were in the large cave near the entrance. Brecka was keeping watch, while Maegwen and Andric watched the King work with Eoden on sword moves.

She blushed when the King looked up at her as she walked in, then realized embarrassment was a waste of energy. His gaze was completely neutral as it touched on her for only a moment before returning to Eoden.

Ah. In one way, it truly didn't matter what the kiss had meant to him, or why he had done it. It was in the past, and he was now wholly focused on the upcoming battle. Instead of feeling hurt, she found the knowledge comforting, his detachment somehow reassuring. Although she cherished the memory and knowledge of the kiss, she didn't want to feel further unsettled as they prepared to face the orcs.

She walked up front to keep watch with Brecka and noted with relief that dawn had come while she'd been in the back caves. It wouldn't make much difference, really, but she'd rather face the orcs in daylight. She looked down at the camp, saw no new movement.

The morning passed slowly. Behind her, the King continued to work with Eoden and the sword, and as she listened, it was hard not to be impressed by his patience. He would have made a good father, and the thought that he wouldn't have the opportunity caused her heart to ache.

Brecka made a noise, and Lisswyn glanced at her sharply before following the other girl's glance downward. Her heart stuttered, then resumed with a deeper pounding she could hear in her ears. She reached out, grabbed Brecka's arm, pulled her back from the edge. Their eyes met, exchanged wordless messages of fear.

Then Lisswyn turned, moved quickly to the others. Regretted that she had to clear her throat before she could get the words out. "They're coming." Regretted even more that her voice trembled. If her life was to end, she desperately wanted for it to be with courage.

The King looked at her, and for a just a moment, she saw the eyes of the man who'd kissed her. Then his face went grim, his mouth set. He nodded.

Motioning her and Brecka back to the main area, he said, "Lisswyn, you and Eoden will be here, with the hunting knife and the sword." His next glance was for Maegwen and Brecka. "You two will be behind them, with firebrands." Lastly, he turned to Andric. "And you will also have a firebrand, but your primary duty is to keep your mother and Brecka supplied with live brands."

The nearest fire pit was in the next cave, and as Lisswyn exchanged looks with Maegwen, she knew they both understood that the King was making a last ditch effort to protect the youngest of them in the only way he could, while still giving the boy something to do. They _would_ need to be supplied with fresh brands if the battle went on for any length of time, but it put Andric at the farthest distance from the battle.

The King was looking around, an impatient look on his face, and they all scuttled into the positions he pointed out to them. It was obvious he'd put some thought into their placements.

"Where will you be, Sire?" Eoden asked the question they were all wondering.

The King pulled his sword, moved up to the entrance, glanced down. He paced back to them, flexing his arm with the sword, as if testing it for stiffness. "I'll be at the cave entrance."

"But Lord, if it's you they want, shouldn't you be behind us?" Andric asked the question, and despite the seriousness of their situation, Lisswyn could not resist a wince, well able to imagine the King's response to such a suggestion.

He gave her a dry look to indicate he caught her reaction, but kept his tone even as he replied. "That is exactly why I'll be up front." He paced away from them again, glanced out, down the path, and then moved to the side of the entrance.

She heard Firefoot whinny from the small cave he was in, off to side, and caught the dark look Eomer threw the horse. The thought that apparently not even his beloved horse escaped his moods made her want to smile, and she shook her head. Why was it so hard to concentrate on the orcs? They'd be coming through the door any moment, and she was struggling not to smile?

And then she heard the foul voices outside, and had her answer. She was terrified out of her mind, and was apparently ready to latch on to anything other than what was about to come through the cave entrance.

Somehow, she'd been expecting them to burst into the cave screaming, but instead they rounded the path in to the entrance in what was nearly a casual manner, as if they weren't really expecting to find anyone in the caves. The first two through the door paused when they saw them, plainly startled. It was only for a second, but it was fatal, as the King killed them both with two quick swipes of his blade before they even noticed him at their side. They went down, still wearing the same startled expressions.

And then there was no more time for thought. The rest of the orcs had recovered from their shock and flew into the room shrieking. She tried to count them as she brought her knife up, but it was hopeless. Several of them stopped to engage the King in battle, but several others swarmed into the main room of the cave before she could even move in the direction of the King.

They all seemed to target Eoden simultaneously, perhaps because of his sword. Her fear turned to anger and she leaped in his direction, stabbed out with the hunting knife.

It was long, but not nearly long enough to act as a sword substitute. They could easily reach her with their longer blades while she had to dart closer to them to have even a hope of contact. But the knife was light, and she was comfortable with it. She would just have to be faster than the orcs. As she moved around them, she discovered that one thing that worked in her favor was her lack of armor. If she had none to protect her, she also had none slowing her down.

It was with grim satisfaction that she caught the one closest to her from the side and neatly sliced his neck open while he was busy trying to get to Eoden.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that the King had efficiently dispatched two more, while one of the others was now being distracted by Maegwen and Brecka. A firebrand wasn't much of a weapon in comparison to a sword, but once it had been rammed into an enemy's face, the biggest danger became dodging him as he screamed and thrashed around in agonized blindness.

As the King saved them the trouble and beheaded the blinded orc, she glanced back at Eoden. It was becoming hard to see in the dim and smoky cave, but he was fighting fiercely and she started forward to help him. She had not gone more than a few feet when she was intercepted from the side.

Frightened at being surprised and angry at the interruption, she spun around, brought up her knife, and sliced out with it…only to have her blow knocked aside by the King's sword.

She halted, and stared at him in horror. "Sire!"

He nodded toward Eoden, and she turned to watch the orc go down in a mostly headless heap at Eoden's feet. The boy gave a fierce grin, then looked at them. At the King.

"Good stroke." His voice was quiet, but it was clear Eoden had heard it and that it was all the praise he was looking for.

Lisswyn turned back to the King, aware she was trembling. "My lord—forgive me." She had nearly knifed him across the chest. Had not identified him quickly enough, had not been able to turn the blow.

The room was quiet, and the one part of her mind not frozen with horror noted that the orcs were all dead.

"For what?" Eomer looked around, and finding nothing suitable, shrugged and wiped his blade on his leggings before returning it to its scabbard. Then he looked back at her.

"I—I nearly knifed you!" She hated the fact that her voice sounded so weak. She transferred the knife to her left hand, rubbed her face with her right. What was wrong with her that she could not quit shaking? What was wrong with him that he didn't seem to care that she'd turned her knife on him?

He reached out, pulled her hand away from her face. "If I could not defend myself from someone armed only with a knife and in their first battle, I would have deserved it."

She looked at him, blinked in an effort to see him more clearly through the smoke. Felt herself color. "Oh."

"That is not an insult to your fighting." He looked around at the orcs at their feet. "You have done remarkably well. All of you have." After a moment, he added, "And I should not have startled you in that way. That was foolish of me."

Lisswyn looked over to where Eoden was talking animatedly to his mother. "Why did you? Why did you not want me to help him?" She winced as she heard the challenge in her voice, but the King ignored it.

"The orc was already injured and fighting poorly," he answered. "And Eoden will need the confidence of knowing he killed his first orc on his own."

She nodded slowly, understanding that he knew more than she did how to judge a fight, to judge the battle-readiness of the combatants. She also knew that he had been under no obligation to explain himself to her, but was asking for her trust.

She looked up at him, then down at her hand, which was still unsteady. "I'm still shaking. By the time I realized it was you, I could not seem to turn the knife."

"It is possible that some of your reaction is to the battle itself." He spoke the words gently while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "As I said, I should not have startled you."

He turned to start over to the others, then glanced back at her. Improbably, a small smile tugged at his mouth. "Look at it this way – how many others will be able to say they once tried to attack me with a knife?"

Lisswyn shuddered. "It is not something I will be inclined to brag about," she muttered as he moved away, his look back at her indicating he'd still caught the words.

Then it dawned on her that they had both spoken as if they might yet have a future, and for the first time it occurred to her that they were all still alive. They'd survived.

Her moment of relief was short-lived.

"At least one of them escaped back down the path." The King's voice was quiet, and she realized it was with weariness. Wondering if she could at least get him to rest, she started toward him, more concerned about him than what he was saying. Then the meaning of his words penetrated. "More will be coming, probably a lot more, probably very quickly."

She stopped, looked around. They had all survived the first skirmish, but the real battle was yet to come.


	12. Shadow

Silence fell in the caves as they stood in their positions, waiting. There was nothing else to say. Lisswyn tried to take a deep breath, but quickly changed her mind. The room was smoky from the firebrands, and stank – of orcs, orc blood, and burnt orc flesh.

She heard the screams and cries of the orcs pounding up the path, obviously a great many more than the first scouting party had entailed. Grimly, she tightened her grip on her knife. It would all be over soon. She glanced toward the front of the cave, wanting a final clear view of the King, but the smoke made it difficult, blurred him. She was not even to have that, then.

The orcs burst into the cave furious and screaming. Or at least they tried to do so. The narrow entrance and the bodies of the fallen orcs worked against them, limiting the number of orcs who could come through at once.

Again, the King managed to take down the first one by catching him by surprise, but this time, the others who'd made it into the cave immediately turned on him. There was no way he could do battle with so many at once, and she caught Eoden's eye. As a team, they surged forward. Lisswyn went low, used her knife to slice across the backs of the legs of the two of the creatures the King was currently fighting. They squealed and turned in outrage, only to be cut down completely by Eoden. He didn't get all of his blows in, but he got the ones that mattered.

More orcs were forcing their way into the caves, an impossible number. Some stopped to go after the King, others focused on separating her and Eoden, both from the King and each other. And yet others went past them, targeting Maegwen and Brecka.

There was no hope. It was surely only a matter of moments before they were all dead. She ducked beneath an orc's arm, came up behind him, tried to slice the back of his neck. His helmet frustrated her, and he spun around, squealing and leering at her as she realized one of his companions was now on her other side. She could never dart around both of them at once, could never defend herself from two of them with only a hunting knife.

She saw the King was now fighting closer to them, in their midst, and was comforted by that fact. He'd obviously been struck at some point, as it looked like he had a shallow gash across his chest. But he was still fighting, cold fury on his pale face.

She ducked low, escaped from the orc on her left in the only way possible – by sliding between the legs of the orc on the right. It worked better than she'd hoped, as the left orc swung wildly at her with his blade – and killed the orc whose legs she'd crawled between in the process. She jumped to her feet, energized by that small victory, and went after the other orc again.

She sliced out at him, ducked his sword. Turning, she realized she was once again dealing with two of the creatures, and that the one she hadn't seen behind her was even now bringing his sword down. Desperately, she tried to duck, but the only possible place to go would put her squarely in the path of the first orc. This was it, then. She was trapped.

Dimly, she saw the King spin, use his sword to knock away the arm of the one that was about to decapitate her. Because she moved at the same time, she felt the blow on the side of her head, was flung by the impact against the wall. She slid down it, stunned. Waited for death.

After a second, when it didn't come, she raised a trembling hand to her head and felt the knot, a little blood. But not the gaping gash she was expecting. Her ears were ringing, her mind full of cotton, but understanding finally penetrated. The King had deflected the blow, and though it had still hit her, it had somehow been with the flat of the blade and not its edge. She had a hideous headache, but was yet alive.

She tried to move, to get back up. They needed her. But her body wouldn't move, wouldn't obey.

Through the haze of her own pain and the smoke, she saw Eoden, still fighting. He, too, was bleeding from a gash on his forehead. How much longer could any of them go on?

She tried again to struggle to her feet, even as she saw another orc target her. Or maybe it was the same one, realizing she hadn't been killed, after all.

She crawled up the wall, turned to face him. It was hopeless. Her coordination was off, her head throbbing. For a moment, the desire to just let it be finished washed over her, and the thought shocked her. That was unfair to the rest of them. As long as she was in the battle, there were orcs not targeting the others.

Tears were on her face, though she did not remember beginning to weep. She brought her knife up.

And then, through the pain and confusion, she heard a noise from outside the caves, one she couldn't place. But it was apparent the orcs did. They squealed louder, and began to fight harder.

It was also evident that the King did, as well. He looked stunned for a moment, and then a renewed fierceness settled on his face. "Riders!" He shouted the word in her direction, and then spun around taking in the rest of them. "Fight!"

She heard the noise again, and this time it made sense. Horns. Riders, an eored, someone, had arrived and were attacking the orcs on the plain. If they could hang on for just a little while longer, they might yet have a chance.

But her vision was still off, and she couldn't tell whether it was one orc coming after her or if she was seeing the same one twice. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated. She thrust out with the knife, and the creature laughed, darted closer, taunted her with his sword. The arm holding her knife faltered, and she leaned against the wall, tried to clear her head. She couldn't do it. Wasn't going to make it.

"Lisswyn!" The King roared her name, followed it up with a particularly strong oath. She glanced in his direction as the orc slashed out at her. She managed to sidestep him, but knew she wouldn't be so lucky the next time. She looked back at the King, and saw two of him. And they were both angry with her. Coldly furious, were swearing again, even as he killed another orc, seemed to be trying to get to her. "You will fight!"

She swallowed, shook her head again, felt the pain of that. The desire to give up, to slip from the pain and confusion into the darkness that hovered was fierce, but it was matched by shame that she was letting the King down. He was angry with her. Disappointed in her. She forced back the darkness and moved toward the orc, aware that she was wildly swinging the knife.

The orc slashed down toward her midsection. She stumbled back, managed to deflect the weapon. Felt the breeze as it cut too close to her side, sliced into her lower left arm. Terrified to look down lest she discover the cut had severed the limb, she swung out again with the knife. And knew the satisfaction of watching it slice into his neck.

He went down, and she staggered back against the wall. Finally found the courage to look at her arm, sagged with relief. A wound, yes, but it didn't appear to be as deep as she might have feared. At least her wrist was still attached. She closed her eyes against the spin of the room, knew it was over for her. Not even to please the King, to avoid his anger, could she go up against another orc.

As she stood there, breathing heavy and trying to push back the darkness – perhaps after all, it would be nice to at least stay semi-conscious – she realized the tone of the fighting had changed. There were fewer orc noises echoing in the cave. She opened her eyes as she heard other men arriving, realized some of the riders were coming into the cave. They would help defeat the last few orcs in the room.

They'd all made it. Somehow, they'd all survived. It wasn't real, couldn't be. The king was making his way to the front of the cave, still fighting.

And then she heard a hideous noise, a shocked cry. Peering through eyes that still refused to focus, it took a moment to understand what she seeing. Eoden furiously fighting, stabbing an orc through the chest with a fury on his face she'd never before imagined. And on the floor next to him, Maegwen, an ugly orc-knife buried deep in her ribs.

"Oh, no. No." Lisswyn pushed away from the wall, staggered over, dropped to the ground next to her. Instinct said to reach for the knife, but to do so would accomplish nothing but increase the pain. It was hopeless. She looked into the eyes of her friend, saw that Maegwen knew it as well. They weren't all going to make it after all.

"Lisswyn…the boys?" Maegwen whispered it, which was more than Lisswyn could manage. She could only nod, could not get out the words of the promise the other woman was asking for.

The boys were now on the other side of her, and Maegwen managed to turn toward them, but seemed to be having trouble focusing. "…so proud of you both. Your father, brothers…would be proud, too." Her voice a whisper, she faded for a moment, then her eyes sharpened again. "You must remember…" She faltered, struggled to get words out. "There is more to being a good man… than using a sword." Her eyes closed, and Lisswyn was afraid it was for the last time.

Dimly, Lisswyn realized the King had come up, was awkwardly kneeling next to the boys. "Maegwen." His voice was hoarse. She saw the other woman's eyes open again, her unfocused gaze turned toward him. "I'll remind them." He cleared his throat. "They will be cared for. I promise you."

"You are a good man, Eomer-King," she murmured the words, then looked back at her boys, was focused on them when the light in her eyes went out.

The room was silent for a moment, and then Lisswyn heard Andric start to weep. She scooted away, needing desperately to put some space between herself and this latest blow. Maegwen. Oh, Maegwen, no.

She tried to get to her feet, felt the room spin. Fell back. Forced herself up again. Staggered. Confused, she tried to look down at her feet. And noticed how wet her dress was. Blood. Her blood? The room spun faster, and she touched her arm. The orc blade had bitten deeper than she'd thought. The blackness rushed up, and she let it, was only vaguely aware of the King's cry as her battered body connected with the hard floor.

His own body was still weak, still off-balance with only one arm, and it took Eomer long precious seconds to get to his feet and get to her. Kneeling next to where she'd fallen, he rolled her over.

She was so pale. He'd known she was injured, had been amazed that she was able to stand at all after taking that blow to the head. But there'd been no time to check on her. And now, all he could see was what he'd missed earlier – that she'd suffered more than just the head blow.

Blood. There was so much blood. He clamped his hand over the wound on her arm, grimly aware of how wet it was. The wound did not seem to be bleeding profusely, but the amount of blood on her dress made that a small comfort at the moment. Was the bleeding slowing because the wound was beginning to seal, or because there was so little blood left in her body?

If so, she would die, and he…he wasn't sure he'd recover. He knew for certain he'd never forgive himself. He'd been prepared to die for them. For two of the women to have died while he lived was unbearable. And if one of them was Lisswyn…

He looked back over his shoulder at Eoden and Andric. Eoden was staring at Lisswyn in shock, while Andric simply looked terrified at the thought of losing her as well as his mother.

Eomer understood the feeling. "Eoden." He allowed his voice to be sharp. "I need your help."

The boy glanced at him, confused, and then struggled to his feet. "Yes, sire."

"Take her knife, and cut these cloths off of me." They were dirty, but at the moment, making sure the bleeding stopped was more important than worrying about infection.

Obviously trying to still his trembling, Eoden obeyed, finding it easier to simply cut both the shirt and the cloth strips off of him. Awkwardly, cursing the arm he still had no real control over, Eomer wrapped the first one around Lisswyn's arm several times. Then he looked up. "Hold your hand there." He placed Eoden's hand on top of the bandages, and pressed down.

So much blood. How much blood was there in a person's body? Fear hammered inside him. Some of the blood was perhaps Maegwen's, but most of it was not. And the blow to the head in addition to the loss of blood – how much abuse could one body stand before succumbing?

He heard a noise, looked up. Several of the men from his guard stood in the entrance to the cave, shifting anxiously. He'd started toward them when he'd heard Lisswyn's cry as Maegwen had fallen, and they were still standing there. Waiting. Watching. Thedhelm!" He snapped the younger man's name out.

"Sire?"

"Is there a healer among the riders?" He still didn't know exactly which eored had joined his guard in coming to their rescue. At Thedhelm's uncertain nod, he shouted, "Then get him up here!"

The man bolted and ran. Eomer turned back to Lisswyn, and swore again when he noticed the cloth beneath Eoden's hand was turning red. He picked up another piece of cloth and awkwardly tried to tie it tightly above the wound, angry that he hadn't already done so. He should have thought to do so immediately – it might result in the loss of the arm, but a lost arm was better than a lost life, and he simply had no idea how much blood she'd already lost, how much more she could afford to lose.

Long moments passed. He was carefully lifting the top layer of cloth – the bleeding seemed slower – when he heard the sound of riders coming up the path and into the cave. "Did you find a healer?" he asked, without looking up.

"Will I do?"

He froze at the quiet voice, wondered for a moment if he was becoming delusional in his fear and exhaustion.

He slowly lifted his head, stared. Aragorn, King Elessar of Gondor, fresh from battle, stood in the entrance to the cave.

Lisswyn's chances of survival had just improved considerably.


	13. Hope

"Aragorn." Eomer heard the desperation in his voice as he looked from the other man back to Lisswyn. His face had probably revealed all manner of things, but Gondor's king wouldn't have seen it – he was already kneeling next to them. "She received a blow to the head as well, but remained conscious for a period of time after that. That was before the wound to the arm."

Aragorn nodded as he replaced Eoden's hand with his own and carefully lifted the bandage to examine the wound. His expression was grave as he turned, touched the base of her throat with a light finger. "Her heart beats very unevenly, Eomer. She may have already lost too much blood."

Wordless with fear, Eomer simply looked at him, and saw compassion come into the other man's eyes. "Do not abandon hope yet, not while her heart does still beat." He glanced around. "Is there anywhere else we can take her, away from this smoke and filth?"

Eomer struggled to his feet, cleared his throat. "There are other caves. The battle remained in here, so they will probably be an improvement in that respect."

Aragorn nodded, then appeared to notice Eomer's useless arm for the first time. He gathered Lisswyn into his own arms and stood up. "Show me. I will also need hot water."

"I've started some to boil." Both men looked up. Brecka, pale and dirty but uninjured, stood in the door to the next cave. Eomer noted her lack of injury with relief. At least one of the women had escaped harm.

"Thank you."

As she led Aragorn back into the caves, Eomer turned to the men waiting patiently behind them. "Get these carcasses out of here." Seeing Andric still sitting beside Maegwen's body, he wished desperately that he could be in two places at once. The boys needed him, too. He looked at Thedhelm, then motioned to the body lying so still on the floor. "And find something to cover her with."

Thedhelm nodded, and Eomer turned to follow Aragorn.

He found them in one of the back rooms. The other man had laid Lisswyn on a pile of skins next to one of the small fires. Brecka and Eoden stood nearby.

"Do you have the weapon that cut her?" Aragorn asked before he'd even made it into the room, and Eomer turned back to retrieve it before his men obeyed his order and hauled the dead orcs – and their weapons – out of the cave.

As he left the main cave with the orc weapon – it was hard to call one of the pieces of oddly shaped metal a proper sword – he saw Thedhelm respectfully covering Maegwen's body with a cloak.

He laid the weapon next to Aragorn, then crossed over to Eoden. Resting his hand on the boy's shoulder, he nodded toward Aragorn. "He will do all he can," he said softly. "In the meantime, I think Andric needs you. If you can get him to come back here, that would be good, but if not, it is not good for him to be with your mother alone." He squeezed Eoden's shoulder. "Do you understand?"

Eoden nodded, his gaze lingering on Lisswyn for a moment. He lifted his eyes to Eomer, started to say something. Then closed his mouth, walked out.

Eomer watched him go, and remembering the loss of his own parents at an early age, ached for him. Then he turned and kneeled next to Lisswyn, felt a different ache.

Aragorn was cleaning her wounds, did not look up. "The blood loss has slowed, the wound is beginning to seal." He placed a clean cloth over the gash, then rebound it before easing the tourniquet. He seemed relieved when there was no increased flow of blood.

For the first time, Eomer noted a pouch on the floor next to a bowl of steaming water. Aragorn pulled out a few leaves from the pouch and dropped them in the water before pulling out more of the same leaf. This one he dipped in the water, then mashed in his palm. When it was the consistency he wanted, he pulled up the bandages and spread the paste gently in the wound.

Then he touched her throat again, felt for the pulse. "She struggles, but her heart continues to beat." He looked up, gazed at Eomer.

The healing scent from the water was permeating the room, and despite his fear, Eomer felt his heart ease. She had to live. Anything else was not to be borne.

Aragorn turned, picked up the orc blade, a look of distaste on his face. He touched it, ran a finger along the flat part, then lifted it, smelled it.

"Poison?" The thought of Lisswyn experiencing the agony he had was unthinkable, and Eomer held his breath until he saw Aragorn slowly shake his head.

"No, I do not believe so." The other man looked up. "Infection will be a concern, but the weapon does not appear to have been poisoned."

Relief that she would not have that to endure, at least, made him light-headed and he reached out with a hand that was not quite steady and brushed the hair away from Lisswyn's face. "She fought well for someone who was in her first battle," he murmured.

When he looked up, he saw a knowing look on Aragorn's face, but to his relief, the other man changed the subject. "What of your arm?"

Eomer looked down, then slowly managed to make a fist. He still could not lift it, and the effort exhausted him, but clearly he had more control than before the battle. "Poisoned arrow." He looked up. "Numbing poison." There was a flash of pity in Aragorn's eyes before it was suppressed, and he gritted his teeth, resenting it.

Aragorn stood, walked around Lisswyn and kneeled next to him. Gently, he probed the scar, then the other cuts Lisswyn had made to insert the healing herb. "Is there any pain? Any place you yet can not feel?"

Eomer shook his head. "No. I just can not yet completely control it."

Aragorn nodded, and looked at him. "You were fortunate, though I doubt you thought so at the time."

He looked down at Lisswyn. "No." Touching one of the bruises on her arm, he said, "Her mother was a healer; she believes herself only a weaver." Glancing back up at Aragorn, he allowed the other man to see his fear. "She risked her life to find the anti-poison, and now she may die anyway."

Silence fell between them, and Eomer reached out to touch the pulse at her neck. So faint, so erratic. But still there.

"Does she know how you feel about her?"

His head jerked at the question, but before he could snap a reply, Aragorn raised his hand. "I do not ask to pry." He nodded toward Lisswyn. "Such things can make a difference to healing."

There was another long silence, but finally Eomer slowly shook his head. "No. There was no time." He thought of the kiss, which now seemed to have taken place lifetimes earlier. "At least…" He faltered. "No. No, she doesn't."

How could Lisswyn know how he felt, when he didn't know himself? And if anyone in the Riddermark had to be careful about things of the heart, it was its king. Was he even completely free to love her? He didn't know.

Compassion settled on the other man's face again, but Eomer turned from it and changed the subject. "Aragorn, do not misunderstand this…but how do you come to be here?"

Aragorn hesitated, and his answer was slow in coming. "I looked into the palantir several weeks ago and saw things which disturbed me." He raised troubled eyes to Eomer. "Orc movements that I still do not understand. We always knew that not all the orcs were destroyed, but there were more of them than I had imagined." He frowned. "And they were moving north, at the same time orcs from Moria were venturing south. I believed it boded ill for the Mark."

Eomer frowned. "Moria orcs? And orcs from the south coming north? To what possible purpose? And who is controlling them?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know that yet. One of Saruman's Uruks that somehow survived and is managing to unite them, perhaps, or someone from the south. Or even a combination of those who still wish us harm."

"An Uruk." He ran his hand over his face, suddenly weary beyond words. How could his people face more war when they had already lost so much? He looked up, wondered how to find the words to express his gratitude, not just personally, but for his people.

Aragorn's gaze met his, his eyes somber. "It is past time for Gondor to come to the aid of the Riddermark, is it not?"

Moved, Eomer held out his arm, clasped Aragorn's with it. "There was never a debt, never a tally kept. But I thank you, nonetheless."

After a moment, their eyes returned to the still figure before them. Aragorn reached forward and touched Lisswyn's throat again. When he looked up, his face was troubled. "Even if she survives, there may be permanent damage to her heart."

Eomer watched as the other man touched Lisswyn's face, her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, then murmured something in Elvish. She had to live, had to survive and be well.

* * *

_There was darkness, and there was pain, and there was nothing else. She was lost, and struggling to find her way, but wasn't even sure of where she was trying to go. The pain came in waves, first her head, then her arm…and beneath the physical pain there was a deeper, darker pain she shied away from._

_And then she heard the voice, soft at first, calling her. Words she did not know, but somehow understood. How could that be? The voice went on, telling her she must come back, that she was needed. Well, of course. She was always needed. But how to get back? It would be so much easier just to stop, to let the pain and darkness win. She half expected a sharp rebuke at that, but the voice remained calm. Remained soft. She tried to follow it._

_

* * *

_

Eomer watched Aragorn. It almost seemed as if the other man was locked in a one-sided conversation with Lisswyn, as his murmuring rose and fell. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet. There were things he needed to attend to – Maegwen's boys, his men.

It was hard to do so. To walk away. As irrational as it might be, he feared that as soon as he did, Lisswyn would lose the battle she was fighting, and her heart would simply stop.

But as much as he wanted to stay with her, he was king, and had other duties. And whatever hope there was for her would be in Aragorn, not himself.

Aragorn looked up at him, a weary look on his face. "Grief can kill as effectively as a sword, Eomer."

Eomer thought of his mother. "I know." He turned, looked toward the cave where Maegwen lay before looking back down at Lisswyn with a sigh. "And she has lost much in the past few months."

"Talk to her." At Eomer's sharp look, Aragorn continued, "People can sometimes hear things going on around them, even when they're near death. Hearing is thought to be the last of the senses to go."

Hesitantly, Eomer nodded, knelt down again, closer to Lisswyn. Her face was so white. He touched her temple gently, tried to find the words. But no words would come. What could possibly make a difference? What could he say to encourage her?

"Lisswyn, you must keep fighting. The orcs are gone, you fought well. You're safe. But you must win one more battle." He closed his eyes, groaned softly. He was a warrior; words were not his strength. What possible difference could telling her she'd fought well make? He opened his eyes, looked hopelessly at Aragorn.

The other man gazed back at him steadily, and Eomer flushed. He knew what Aragorn thought he should say, but beyond the fact that he still wasn't entirely sure of what his feelings were, or what they might mean, trying to describe them when she was unconscious felt ridiculous. Besides, what if she did not feel the same way? Would not hearing of his confusion then be a burden rather than a reason to live?

He finally leaned back down, and softly said, "You must come back. You must live and be well." He paused, struggled. "You are needed here. Brynwyn needs you. The boys need you. Brecka needs you." He hesitated again. "We need you," he finally finished, then sat back, frustrated. Was that the best he could do? A long list of people who were depending on her?

He got to his feet, and avoiding Aragorn's eyes, said, "I must check on my men, and send someone to get the other women." Glancing back at Lisswyn, he added, "Her sister is probably the one who will make the most difference."

The boys were still sitting next to Maegwen's body, and they both looked up when he came in the cave, fear on their faces.

"Lisswyn?" Eoden asked the question for both of them, his trembling voice a reminder that he was still just a boy, regardless of the battle he'd fought earlier.

Eomer knelt behind them, squeezed Eoden's shoulder before resting his hand on Andric's back. "She still lives." He saw relief come into their eyes, felt compelled to temper it. "But she struggles. She bled for a long time." And if she died, he would forever blame himself for not realizing sooner how serious the blow to her arm had been.

He changed the subject. "I have a task for the two of you." Interest came into Eoden's eyes at that point, while Andric moved closer to his mother's body. "I'm sending a group of my men up to the top of the cliffs to escort the other women and children back. I want you two to go with them."

"We could go by ourselves." Eoden looked puzzled. "There is no need to send your men." Eomer raised an eyebrow at him, and Eoden flushed scarlet, apparently realizing he'd challenged the King. "I'm sorry, sire." He looked down, plainly miserable.

Eomer reached over and lifted his chin. "You're allowed to ask questions, Eoden."

Still obviously embarrassed, the boy nodded. "Why not just send me, then?"

"The possibility exists that a pocket of orcs may have escaped. You fought well against them." Eomer looked down at Maegwen's body. "But I'm unwilling to risk losing you as well."

Eoden shook his head, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of anger. "Please, sire. Do not mock me."

Confused, Eomer just stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"If I had fought well, she would not be dead." His voice was bitter, and he looked away.

Eomer had a sudden memory of turning, seeing Eoden taking down the orc that had just killed his mother.

Weary, he rubbed his face. Again found himself trying to find the right words. "I understand why you feel that way, but you're being too hard on yourself. You could not be everywhere at once during the battle. It makes no more sense to blame yourself than it would to blame Brecka." Eoden opened his mouth. Closed it. "Eoden, warriors lose people they care about." He paused, remembering. "I've watched my closest friends fall in battle, just a few feet from me, while I was unable to do anything about it. And Lisswyn is injured because I could not get to her. The fact that you were too late to save your mother does not mean it was your fault she died."

He took Eoden's chin again, forced him to meet his eyes. "She died because we were up against too many orcs. She died because the orcs were looking for me. If you must blame someone, blame me." Eomer released him, looked back at Maegwen. "I would give my life twice over if I could bring her back, but I can't."

A long moment passed, then Eoden looked at him. "It is not your fault, either, sire. Lisswyn and my mother could not have done other than they did in bringing you to the caves and trying to help you."

Eomer looked at him, slowly nodded.

Eoden stood up. Looked down at Andric. "If there's any chance there are still orcs out there, we should go now to bring the other women home."

Eomer nodded, wondered how to tell him how proud he was of him. He stood, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let me go check with my men. I want you two to go because you'll have a better sense of where the women might be; you can also reassure them when you find them."

He turned, started away, when Andric spoke for the first time. "What about our mother?"

Eomer looked back at him, puzzled. The younger boy looked up at him, a lost look on his face.

Eomer walked back, crouched next to him. "What do you mean?"

"We can't just…leave her here." He hunched his shoulders.

Eomer swore silently, frustrated. How were they to know what was in his mind if he didn't tell them? But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "We won't. How we honor your mother is very important." He paused, chose his words with care. "She died in battle, did so in order to give the other women and children a greater chance to live. She is no less a hero than any of the men I fought with in the wars."

Both of them were looking at him, and again, he had that sense that what he was saying was important, would long be remembered by these grieving boys, and feared that the right words might not come. "Once the other women are back, we will discuss how to honor your mother. And hopefully, Lisswyn will be awake and able to participate as well." The final words were as much a prayer as anything else.

Andric slowly nodded and Eoden looked at him, seemed to speak for both of them. "Thank you, sire."

Eomer looked from one to the other, wondered again what else he could do for them. "I will go organize some men to go with you."

* * *

_A/N: I'm glad you liked Aragorn's arrival. grin I'd said in the beginning that other canon characters would show up, but not who, as I thought it worked better as a surprise. _

_ Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy it -- there's still quite a lot of story left._


	14. Nothing is simple

Eomer watched the boys and a small group of his men head up the path to where the women had gone. To his immense relief, one of the men had been Eothain, captain of his guard. The last time Eomer had seen him, the other man had been surrounded by orcs on the day of the ambush, and the knowledge that he'd survived eased his heart. They had grown up together, survived the war together, and though the loss of any of his men hurt, the loss of Eothain would have been a blow nearly equal to that of losing Theodred.

He turned, looked down at the remains of the orc camp. Eothain had reported that some of the men had left in pursuit of escaping orcs while others were cleaning up the signs of battle – piling the orc carcasses in one spot to be burned, tending the few injuries received by the riders.

Should Aragorn be tending any of them?

No, if he were needed elsewhere, he would have said so. And Eothain had indicated that none of the riders had been seriously injured, despite the presence of the wargs. Thanks to Aragorn, the riders had outnumbered the orcs nearly two-to-one.

Unfortunately, if what Aragorn had seen in the seeing stone was accurate, there were almost certainly a great many more orcs somewhere in the Riddermark, awaiting their chance to cause misery for the Eorlingas. But thanks to Gondor, the Mark was not standing alone. This band of orcs had been defeated; the others would be as well.

He looked back toward the cave where Lisswyn struggled for life. She still lived; Aragorn would have come and told him otherwise. He should go back and…

…and what? Fumble around some more, trying to find the words she needed to hear, words that would encourage her to keep fighting?

He wasn't sure what those words were. Though he'd seen his parents, had watched Eowyn and Faramir's developing relationship, he had no personal experience with love. It had never before come to him --- there'd been no time. He'd been too pre-occupied with war, with trying to protect the Mark's borders. There'd always been another battle to fight.

After he'd become king, he'd known that marriage was a requirement, but so far he'd been too busy to give much thought to the details – and when he had considered it, it had been to accept that love might not be present at all, at least not initially.

Aragorn had asked if Lisswyn knew how he felt, but the reality was he didn't know himself. It had all happened too fast. He had always assumed love came slowly. You had to know someone to love them…didn't you?

What he had not understood was how quickly knowledge of another person could come. He had experienced Lisswyn's compassion and kindness first hand, had discovered in a very small amount of time that she was intelligent, with a sense of humor not daunted despite the grimness of their situation. And her courage was no less than that of the men he rode with, if of a different type.

Physically, she appealed to him on every level. She had the blonde hair of most Eorlingas women, but it was a little redder than most. Hazel eyes that could be direct, or shy, but which nearly always revealed what she was feeling, be it humor, grief, or fear.

The problem was that apart from his own confusion, his identity as king further complicated things. As a man, in the end it was fairly simple: was what he was feeling love, of the kind that could last? And did she return those feelings?

But he wasn't just a man, and there wasn't anything simple about his life. He knew Aragorn had hoped something would develop between himself and the daughter of Imrahil, but Aragorn's own past would probably result in his support for wherever Eomer's heart led him.

Others might not be so understanding.

Impatient with himself, he shook his head sharply. He was getting ahead of things, wasn't he? There was no point contemplating the future until he knew how Lisswyn felt, and her response to his kiss notwithstanding, he wasn't foolish enough to make assumptions where a woman's heart was concerned.

And above all else, there was still the possibility she wouldn't live to tell him.

Reluctantly, he turned, looked toward the cave where she struggled for life. He was being a coward. If he had not wanted to leave her earlier for fear she would die when he did, he now postponed returning for a similar reason – the fear he'd discover she had slipped away from him while he was away. He turned and walked purposely back to where she was being tended.

Pausing in the door, he saw Aragorn reach again to check her heartbeat, was reassured by the action.

Until he noticed the frown on the other man's face. A frown of intense concentration, followed by a repositioning of Aragorn's fingers.

As if he could not find what he was looking for.

Terror that he had returned to the cave just in time to witness her death roared through him, and he froze with dread.

His feelings for her might make no sense, but the despair washing over him left no doubt as to their depth.

"Aragorn?" He heard the hoarseness, the desperation in his voice, wondered at it. The man was a gifted healer, but was still only a man, with limits. If she were gone, not even the king of Gondor would be able to call her back.

With his fingers still against Lisswyn's throat, Aragorn turned to him. "The beat is still very weak, but I believe it is growing steadier."

Eomer blinked as the meaning of the words hit him. She wasn't dead yet. Weak with relief, he staggered a little as he covered the last few feet, then eased himself down on the other side of her.

He brushed his face with a trembling hand, his voice unsteady as he said, "I saw you checking for her heartbeat and thought you couldn't find it." His hand came away damp and he stared at it for a moment before looking up into the compassionate eyes of the man across from him.

"I am sorry for that. I wanted to be sure of what I was detecting." Aragorn once again reached, touched her throat, felt there for a moment. "There is still danger, but her heartbeat growing steadier is the first clear sign of hope I've seen."

Silence fell between them. Aragorn would occasionally check her heartbeat, and more than once leaned down and spoke softly to her. Eomer contented himself with brushing her forehead or touching her cheek. He wanted to speak to her again, but still did not know what to say or how to say it. When he had believed her dead, what had been at the front of his mind was that he would never have an opportunity to tell her how he felt. But now, he once again hesitated.

The words had no meaning apart from their context. He needed to be able to talk to her, to see what was in her heart. To make sure she understood what was in his. Simply to blurt something out…maybe it just meant he was a different kind of coward, but it seemed wrong.

Instead, he leaned down and softly said, "Lisswyn…you must come back to us. The boys have gone to get Brynwyn and the other women. You must not make me tell her that you've left her."

Frustrated that it still sounded as if he wanted her to live simply because there were so many people depending on her, he leaned down again and murmured, "You must live. There are other things I need to tell you, but only if you're awake to respond to them." He wasn't above negotiating with her. He brushed her forehead with a kiss, then sat back up, looked over at Aragorn. The other man was wearing a slight smile, and Eomer felt a blush crawling up his face.

He was spared from formulating a response by the sounds of footsteps in the outer cave. It did not sound like the heavy steps of orcs, but nonetheless Aragorn got to his feet, prepared to draw his sword. More slowly, as he was still somewhat hindered by his arm, Eomer followed.

Brynwyn burst into the cave with the boys behind her, a terrified look on her face. She glanced from the still figure on the floor, to himself, then to Aragorn before looking back at him once more, tears in her eyes.

What had the boys told her? Motioning her over, he eased back to the floor and pulled her down next to him.

She was trembling, and started to reach out to touch Lisswyn before snatching her hand back.

"Brynwyn." His hand upon her chin, he turned her to face him. "Lisswyn yet lives."

She looked at him, and a tear spilled out, rolled down her cheek. "Eoden said she might die."

He looked up at the boys, still standing in the door. Eoden looked frustrated and guilty. "I did not mean to upset her, but wanted to prepare her, in case…"

Eomer nodded. "I would have done the same." Hopefully with more diplomacy than the boy had probably used, but he could not fault him for trying. He looked back at Brynwyn, stroked her hair away from her face, wiped the tears. "She was badly injured, but King Elessar has been tending her, and we think she is getting better. She is still not out of danger, but she is not dead." _Yet. Please, oh, please…_

"I did not tell her good-bye when we left. I was angry." Tears were still coming faster than he could wipe them away.

"Then tell her now that you're sorry you acted that way, and that she needs to wake up so you can apologize properly." He kept his voice gentle, tried to calm her.

"She can hear me?"

He nodded in the direction of Aragorn. "That is what King Elessar says."

Brynwyn looked over at Aragorn, then down to Lisswyn. An intent look on her face, she leaned over. "Lisswyn, I'm sorry I was mean." Impatiently, she brushed tears away, but not before one fell on her sister's face. "You must wake up so I can tell you."

She looked up anxiously, and Eomer held out his arm, and she crawled over to him, rested against him. "It's hard to talk to her when she does not talk back."

She sounded very young, and tired and sad, and Eomer found himself agreeing with her. "I know."

_The pain and darkness were still present, but so were the voices. She did not know the first voice – the one who used unfamiliar words that somehow made sense – but she could not deny his quiet commands. _

_The second voice she did know, and it caused her to struggle harder to break free, to surface. She could not disappoint him. Not when his voice in her ear made her heart jump. And then there was the lighter voice, full of sadness. Brynwyn! She beat harder against the shadows and pain._

Eomer awoke, his neck stiff from the position he had slept in. Confused, it took a moment for him to remember why he was sitting up against the cave wall.

Ah. He had fallen asleep watching over Lisswyn, surrounded by the children. Brynwyn was curled up next to him on his right side, while Andric was on his left, with Eoden on the other side of his brother. Aragorn, still awake, was sitting across from them on the other side of Lisswyn. Eomer looked over at him, noted the half smile the other man gave him. He must look a sight, with the children piled up around him. But he hadn't had the heart to send them away.

He shook his head, winced at the pain then turned it into a stretch. He listened, but heard no noise from the other caves. It must be very late. Apart from the sore neck, he felt nearly rested. His glance fell on Lisswyn.

"Has she awakened at all?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, though she seems to rest easier."

"You should get some sleep."

Aragorn gazed at him, glanced at Eomer's arm. "How are you?"

He looked down, slowly made a fist. Raised it a few inches before letting it drop. "More movement is returning."

"That is encouraging." He looked around, and then indicated the far wall of the cave. "I will rest for a while. Call me if anything changes."

Eomer nodded, and watched as Aragorn moved across the room to stretch out next to the wall, wrapped in his cloak. Looking down, he shifted Brynwyn and Andric into more comfortable positions before moving closer to Lisswyn.

She was still so pale. He reached out, gently touched her cheek. Was there nothing more to be done for her? The answer came even before the question fully formed in his mind. No, of course not. Aragorn had done all that could be done. The rest was up to her.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a slight noise. It took a moment to realize it had come from Lisswyn, and he wondered if he were imagining things.

He bent over her. "Lisswyn?" Her eyes drifted open, and relief left a lump in his throat. He touched her cheek, softly repeated her name. Her eyes were moving back and forth in an uncoordinated fashion, and it confused him at first. Then he realized she was having trouble focusing.

"Sire?" Her voice was weak, but another wave of relief washed over him. She knew who he was.

"I'm here."

She frowned, as if puzzled, then tried again to focus on him. "You were angry with me."

"What?" He leaned forward, convinced he had misunderstood her.

"You were swearing at me. You yelled…" Her voice drifted off, came back. "…I can't remember why. But you were so angry."

He sat back, confused. What was she talking about? And then he understood, remembered his fear during the battle. He looked back at her in time to see a tear sliding down her temple.

"Please don't be angry." Her voice was barely a whisper.

He leaned forward again, close to her. Gently wiped the tear away. Swallowed. "Lisswyn…listen to me." She turned her confused gaze back to him again, and he stroked the flesh next to her eye where the tear had fallen. "I wasn't angry with you, but with the situation. I couldn't get to you. I was afraid. But I wasn't angry with you." His thumb brushed her cheek again. "Do you understand?"

Her eyes closed for a moment, then slowly opened again. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm glad."

Another long moment passed, and he thought she might go back to sleep. Instead, she looked at him again, her eyes a little more clear. The frown returned. "I can't remember."

"Can't remember what?"

"Why you were angry."

What did the confusion mean? How much should he try to explain? He struggled to know how much to tell her even while admitting to a secret hope that perhaps the fact that the one thing she'd remembered was not wanting him to be angry meant she cared about him.

But he still had to answer her question, and did not quite know how. He saw the moment she remembered on her own, saw the change in her eyes. "The orcs."

She tensed, and he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "We're fine. We're safe."

She nodded, winced at the movement. Her eyes closed again, and he took a deep breath. For the first time, he began to have real hope that she might survive.

Then he sensed something, felt her tense. Her eyes were open again, but when she looked at him this time, he saw despair. And knew before she spoke what she was going to say.

"Maegwen."

He reached over, took her hand in his. Linked their fingers. He wanted desperately to hold her, but was afraid to move her that much. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

Her fingers were passive in his, and she glanced away from him. A long moment passed, and he saw her swallow. Then she looked back at him, and her eyes were blank. Empty.

"It was my fault." Her voice was flat, toneless. "I should have been the one to die." He tightened his grip on her fingers, tried to speak through fear and anger. Before he could formulate a response, she turned her head from him and closed her eyes. Dismissed him.

He swore softly, and was fully prepared to tell her that this time he _was_ angry with her, but she did not stir. Would not look at him.

But Aragorn heard him, and was suddenly there, feeling for Lisswyn's heartbeat.

"What happened?"

"Oh, she's awake. Or at least she was." By a determined act of will, Eomer kept his voice quiet so as not to disturb the children, but he could not keep the fear and frustration at bay. He looked at the other man. "She's blaming herself for her friend's death. She says she should have been the one to die."

Compassion was once more on the other man's face, and Eomer suspected it was for himself as well as Lisswyn. "That is not an unusual response to battle, Eomer. You know that."

"Yes." Brynwyn shifted, and he looked down, glad to see the little girl was still asleep. He lowered his voice, but heard the desperation in it. "And as you said earlier, sometimes grief kills where a battle wound has not."

He watched as Aragorn touched Lisswyn's face. "She has returned to sleep," he looked up, forestalled Eomer's frustrated comment. "which is not a bad thing. She needs to heal, and being stronger physically will help her survive the grief." Eomer reluctantly nodded, and Aragorn added, "Continue talking to her. She needs to know she is not alone."

Eomer looked around at the children curled up around him. Alone was not going to be a problem.

* * *

_A/N: In the films, Eothain is a young boy, but in the books, he's one of Eomer's riders. I've elected to stay closer to the book, and make him captain of the Royal Guard._

_Replies: _

_plzkthx101: you never know who else will be showing up. I like surprises. ;)_

_Phia: I'm glad you found the story and are enjoying it. The chapters are fairly short, in part because I'm looking for wherever natural breaks occur and in part because I'm revising as I go, while also working on other stuff. Breaking it down into fairly short chapters allows me to post once a week or so -- or at least, that's my goal._

_As for the rest of you, particularly those who are taking the time to review every chapter...you have no idea how much I appreciate your feedback. Many, many thanks. _


	15. A Different Kind of Battle

_A/N: I'm going out of town this weekend, and thought I'd post the next chapter before I leave. Next week, we'll probably be back on the usual Saturday/Sunday schedule. :)_

* * *

Lisswyn woke, but kept her eyes closed. It was only partially to prevent those around her from realizing she was awake. She still had trouble focusing, and when her eyes were open, the dizziness was worse. But mostly it was because she didn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want them to talk to her. 

She knew they were worried about her, but she could not bring herself to care.

Maegwen was dead.

And for all intents and purposes, Lisswyn had killed her.

She knew what it was like to lose someone, to take a blow and then get up and keep going. She just didn't know how to do it this time. And she wished desperately that some form of justice had played out during that battle; that if only one of them was going to die it had been herself.

She pushed all of it away, prepared to slide back into the darkness, when she heard the soft voice.

"Eomer…she's awake."

She frowned. She'd figured out from an earlier conversation that the other man was the King of Gondor. That had explained a great many things, including their surviving the second orc attack. And based on a comment Eomer-King had made, apparently it explained her survival from her injuries as well. She should probably feel honored that he was tending her, but mostly she just hoped that no one else was suffering while he did.

He was very astute. She'd realized earlier that he was seldom fooled about whether or not she was actually asleep, though he generally left her in peace.

But this time, that was apparently not the plan.

The soft voices of the men continued, and she realized that she was alone with them – the children and other women were elsewhere.

"I will go check on our men." There was a pause, and then the King of Gondor continued. "Eomer, be careful." She heard his steps as he left the cave.

Be careful? Was he in danger?

She opened her eyes, carefully turned her head. Blinked as he sat down next to her. His face was grim, but he looked fine. She closed her eyes again, started to turn her head away once more.

"Oh, no. Not this time." His fingers were gentle on her chin as he guided her back to face him, but were nonetheless persistent. "Lisswyn, open your eyes. I know you're awake."

She obeyed, blinked at him. "It hurts my head to constantly see two of everything." She was whining, and was appalled by it. Or would be if she could bring herself to care.

"I know. And I'm sorry for that. But we need to discuss some things, and it's easier if I know you're awake."

She nodded, exhausted by the effort. The fact that she wasn't always asleep when she pretended to be didn't mean that she wasn't sleeping a lot.

"You can go back to sleep in a few moments."

It was one thing for the King of Gondor to know what she was thinking; when had the King of the Mark become so adept at it?

She nodded again.

"Aragorn believes you'll be able to sit up for a short period tomorrow morning; we're going to honor Maegwen then."

She flinched before she could prevent it, quickly shut her mind on that image. If the grief escaped, it would be unbearable. "I will not be there."

He frowned. "What? That's the point of waiting until tomorrow – so you can be."

"It is not fitting that the one who caused her death attend her funeral." She looked away, unable to face him. But once again, his hand turned her back to him. And this time, it was less gentle.

"If you want to wallow in selfishness and self-pity, that's fine. But you _will_ attend the service," he snapped. "For what it's worth to you – and at the moment, that does not seem to be much – you are not the only one feeling responsible for Maegwen's death. There are several trying to bear that burden, and one of them is a young boy."

She wanted to look away from his anger, but his hand was still gripping her chin. He continued, his words still sharp. This time there was no question that he was angry with her. "A young boy you promised to watch out for. Or do they mean as little to you as the promise you made their mother?"

It was a blow, and her eyes closed in spite of herself as she flinched again. "It is not his fault."

"He disagrees with you. He slaughtered the orc who killed her, but it was too late. And he will forever punish himself for that, for not being a few moments quicker."

"It is not his fault. He is just a boy." She whispered the words, felt her heart aching. Resentment pricked at her. How dare he remind her of the boys' pain, and make her bear their grief as well as her own?

"He needs you to tell him that. He needs _you_. They both do."

He was wrong about that. How could they need her, when she was responsible for their mother's death? But there was obviously no point in saying so. He would just keep battering at her, and at the moment, she was too weak to resist.

"Very well." It didn't really matter. She could attend the service while keeping the grief at bay. She had to.

He released her chin, sat back. "Brynwyn needs you as well." His voice was softer.

She stared at him, very nearly focused. "Brynwyn? Why?" It came out a whisper, as fear slid through the wall she was trying to keep up.

"She did not tell you goodbye before they left for the top of the cliffs. She has grown increasingly convinced that you're going to die without her being able to tell you she's sorry."

A great weariness settled on Lisswyn. Would there never be an end to the people who needed her? Who needed her to be strong? And this time, there would be no one to help her bear those burdens. She closed her eyes, once more pushed away the despair. Apparently, hiding from those responsibilities was not going to be a luxury she would be allowed, not even for a few more hours.

"If you will send for her, I will reassure her." She heard the defeat in her voice.

"Lisswyn…" He hesitated, and then said, "I will bring her to you. But for now, get some rest."

Absently, she wondered what he had started to say, but was then distracted when she felt his lips brush her forehead. Startled, she opened her eyes, watched as he stood to leave.

She opened her mouth to ask him about it, decided not to. She must have imagined it. Surely he was too angry with her to have touched her in such a manner.

* * *

Eomer walked out to the outer cave, weary. Glad that it was empty for the moment, he leaned against the wall, rubbed his hand over his face. He had been deliberately cruel. Had hurt her, intentionally. It had seemed necessary to shock her, but his heart ached in response. Had he been too harsh? There had been a spark of temper in her eyes at one point, the first one he remembered seeing. He'd been encouraged by it, but didn't know if it was going to be enough. 

With everything in him, he wanted to comfort her, but she would not allow any of them to do so. Aragorn believed she was stifling her grief, was convinced that if she didn't allow it out, it would eventually take her life. The other man had offered only a thin hope that the funeral service might give her an opening to release the sorrow.

As a boy, he'd watched his mother fade from life after his father had been killed by orcs. The weaker she'd become, the harder he had tried to lessen her burdens – to care for Eowyn, to not trouble her with his own needs. She'd died anyway, and for several years after the fact, he'd struggled, questioned what else he could have done. Should have done.

It was only after he'd reached adulthood that he had started to wonder if his desperate attempt to make things easier for her had been part of the problem. Perhaps someone should have confronted her with the reality that her children still needed her.

He would not make the same mistake with Lisswyn. If she would not fight to live, he would fight for her.

He only hoped Aragorn was right about the funeral providing her a chance to let the grief out; he could also only hope that eventually she'd be able to forgive him the harsh words he had just said to her. It seemed possible that he might have just saved her life, and destroyed any chance he had of earning her love.

* * *

"Call her name." 

Lisswyn woke to hear the King's voice. She reluctantly opened her eyes, saw Eomer-King standing behind Brynwyn, nudging her toward where Lisswyn was lying.

The little girl saw Lisswyn's eyes open and her own eyes brightened. "Lisswyn!" She ran the last few feet and dropped next down next to her.

The King quietly left the cave, which didn't surprise Lisswyn. After what he'd said to her earlier, she doubted he wanted to be around her.

She turned her gaze to Brynwyn. "Brynwyn." She wanted to touch her, but her hand trembled when she reached out and instead of managing to touch the little girl's cheek, she settled for resting it on her sister's lap. She was still so weak.

For a moment, they were silent, staring at each other. Then Brynwyn looked down. "I'm sorry I was mean to you." A tear slipped down her face.

Lisswyn squeezed her hand. "I understood. I was not angry with you."

Brynwyn looked up. "I did not know how to say goodbye. I did not want to."

Lisswyn swallowed against her own tears. Once they started to fall, they would never stop. "I know. But I understood."

Brynwyn rubbed Lisswyn's hand, nodded.

Again silence fell, and Lisswyn began to relax. That had not gone too badly.

"Maegwen is dead."

Brynwyn stated the words baldly, and Lisswyn stiffened. Oh, no. No. She could not discuss Maegwen. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. They could not ask her to. She would never be able to manage the pain if she had to comfort Brynwyn.

But of course she would have to. Who else?

Why hadn't she seen this coming?

"I know." She finally managed to whisper the words, squeezed Brynwyn's hand again.

"King Eomer says she was very brave."

Lisswyn entwined her fingers with her sister's, but turned her head away, closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced the pain away. It would not, could not be allowed out.

Then she looked back, and her voice was steady when she spoke. "He is correct."

"He says you were brave, too."

Her heart wanted to jump at that, but Lisswyn suppressed it. The little girl had surely misunderstood him. She changed the subject. "How are the boys?"

Brynwyn thought about the question for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Eoden is angry, Andric is sad. Eoden thinks he should have been able to save her. But the King says it is not Eoden's fault. He says if Eoden must blame someone, he should blame him." She frowned, plainly puzzled by that. "The King of Gondor says it was the orc's fault."

For just a second, Lisswyn nearly smiled at the pragmatic statement. Then the ache settled again. Did none of them understand that she was the one to blame? She had been the one to suggest that some of them stay. If they had all gone to the top of the cliffs, they would all have lived. The boys would not now be orphans. Again, she bitterly wished that justice had been served. That if only one was to die, that it had been herself.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly missed what Brynwyn said next.

"…but the boys are spending a lot of time with the King. They are helping him with Firefoot."

Getting in the way, more than likely, but it was a kind thing for him to do. Keeping them busy was important, and if a horse was involved, all the better.

"And we are gathering rocks."

Rocks? Lisswyn looked up, confused, but Brynwyn was pulling away, standing up. "The King said I should not stay long. You must sleep, so you can get well." She paused. "I am glad you are going to be alright." She turned to leave, and then added, "I am going to go help more with the rocks."

With that, she was gone, leaving Lisswyn to puzzle over her comment. Rocks?

The next time she awoke, the cave had the dark stillness that indicated night. Only one candle was burning, and she could hear the soft breathing of those sleeping around her.

With effort, she lifted her head, looked around and frowned in confusion. The room seemed to be full of people. Eoden, Andric and Brynwyn were all sleeping near her, rather than the rooms they normally slept in, and a larger figure rolled up in a cloak against the far wall could only be Eomer-King, and that puzzled her even more. Surely there were more comfortable places for him to sleep? What were his men thinking?

And then she noticed the King of Gondor sitting near her, his head resting on his chest as if he were asleep. Apparently she was still judged as ill enough to need a caretaker, even if he did feel he could doze off.

She lowered her head again, was about to close her eyes when suddenly King Elessar was leaning over her.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Fine."

He raised an eyebrow. "How are you?"

She felt color come into her cheeks at the reminder that he could not be fooled. "My head still aches, but not as badly." She looked around, then back at him. "And my vision seems to be improving."

"What of your arm?"

Not only not easy to fool, but also quite thorough. "It's sore. But I am still so very weak."

He nodded at that. "You bled for a long time."

"How will I get to where ..." She could not say the name. "…to where the funeral is?"

He looked puzzled. "It is just in there." He nodded his head toward the back of the cave. "One of us will help you. Why?"

She frowned. They were interring Maegwen in the_ caves_? She looked at him. "I do not understand. She is being left in the caves?"

"She is in the smaller room in the back, buried in rocks. After the funeral, the room will be sealed as well." His voice gentled. "The soil here is very dry and sandy…it is the best way to protect her from animals."

She nodded. "But for the boys to have to live with that…" she murmured. Had there really been no other way?

He looked puzzled again. "The boys will not be here."

She looked at him blankly. "Where will they be?"

"At Edoras."

She did not understand at first. Edoras? How and why would they be there? And then comprehension came as a sharp blow, one she had not been expecting. The King had called her selfish; he must have decided she was truly unfit to care for the boys. But to take them from her without even telling her… She closed her eyes, willed away the desperate sense she had failed Maegwen twice over. Then a new fear slid through her. She looked back at King Elessar. "What of Brynwyn?" she whispered. Would Eomer-King take her sister, too?

The King of Gondor stared at her for a long moment, then understanding settled on his face. "She is going to Edoras as well." As Lisswyn turned her head from him, unwilling to let him see her see the devastation his answer caused, he turned her face back to him.

"Lisswyn, forgive me for upsetting you. I did not realize you did not know…you are all to go to Edoras."

Edoras? How could they go to Edoras? Where would they live? What would they do there?

He must have seen the questions. "You have done well to survive here. But you cannot stay. The orcs have been routed, but may return – there is much we do not yet understand about their movements. And the gardens you were counting on to feed you during the winter were destroyed when the village was burned."

She nodded, tried to feel grateful. She'd been worried about surviving the winter even before the orc attack. At least in Edoras she would not worry about their freezing to death. But it still did not answer the question of how she would support herself and three children there.

"Many families were wiped out during the war." His voice was still soft. "There are cots standing empty and vacant at Edoras."

Ah. That must be the plan, then. She closed her eyes, wondered again where food would come from. But perhaps one of those empty buildings held a wheel and loom. Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could spin and weave again?

But the thought of moving so far away on her own was overwhelming. And Maegwen would not be with her.

She closed her eyes, willed the darkness of sleep to claim her before the grief could.

* * *

Morning came, and Lisswyn reluctantly opened her eyes. For the moment, she appeared to be alone, although she could hear voices in the other caves. Preparing for the funeral, no doubt. Or to leave. She frowned, wondered when the kings planned to leave for Edoras, and how they planned to make the journey. It would be a very long, very slow journey with the children. And with Liffild due to deliver her babe any day… She still marveled that the woman had made it to the top of the cliffs and back down without going into labor. 

Regardless, it was past time for her to be up. The King had been right to call her on her selfishness, her obligation to the children. She could not bring Maegwen back, could not trade places with her. However, she could honor the promise she had made. And that would begin immediately. She would find the strength to be what the boys needed her to be. What Brynwyn needed her to be.

It started by getting up. By honoring Maegwen at the farewell service, by beating back her own grief so she could support the boys.

She took a breath, surveyed her injuries. Not much different from what she'd reported to the King of Gondor earlier. Her arm and head throbbed, but neither was unmanageable.

She braced herself on her right arm and forced herself into a sitting position. The room spun around her, and she stifled a whimper of pain as her head protested the movement. She could not do the things she needed to do if she could not sit up.

She slowly opened her eyes. The room was still spinning, but the pain was receding again. That was good. She looked around, pondered standing. Or trying to.

"Lisswyn!" Hilde's voice broke into her thoughts. "What are you doing?"

She looked in the direction of the voice, saw the older woman coming toward her with two mugs.

"Getting up."

Hilde sat down next to her. "You must not. King Elessar says you must take things slowly."

Yes, well, King Elessar had not been reminded in a rather painful manner that there were children depending on him. Children she could not care for from a prone position on the floor.

"I have brought you some soup. And tea! The riders had some with them."

She handed one of the mugs to Lisswyn, who took it, slowly sipped. Chicken soup again. But this time, she was actually getting some chicken. She ruthlessly pushed thoughts of Maegwen away, forced her arm to steady, sipped again.

"We are to leave tomorrow morn for Edoras."

Startled, Lisswyn looked at the older woman. So soon? She tried again to picture standing, let alone walking all the way to Edoras. The image wouldn't form.

"Hilde, how will the children make it that far? And Liffild?" _And me?_

"Carts. The riders have found them." She frowned. "I'm not sure where. Perhaps from villages not destroyed by orcs. I gather the riders have been visiting all the villages to see which ones have been attacked, and what their needs are." She looked up. "That is what the King was doing when he was attacked by the orcs."

It occurred to Lisswyn that she had never asked him that. She also realized with what bordered on amusement that "the King" was always Eomer-King, their King, the King of the Mark, while King Elessar was always fully identified by name. Had to keep them straight somehow, she supposed.

Hilde was still talking. "…three of them, which the King believes will be enough to carry the children who are too young to walk, Liffild, our belongings, and you."

Splendid. She was going to be hauled to Edoras in a cart. Her hand trembling from just the effort of holding the mug, she put it down, while admitting to herself that the thought of not having to walk so far relieved her even as it shamed her. But she would make sure she was walking at least short distances by the time they got to the city.

She started to reach for the tea, dropped her hand instead, stared at it. She was just so tired. She fought a battle with the exhaustion, reached again for the mug. She knew Hilde was watching every grimace, and it made her uncomfortable.

"How long until the funeral?"

"Shortly."

Perhaps it would not be considered too weak of her if she took a nap afterwards. She sighed.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Phia...good questions. (grin) Watch and see. ;)_

_And for all of you, once again, I can only say thanks, and that I hope you continue to enjoy it. (I started to list names but am afraid of missing someone -- trust me, I read them all and am very encouraged. You're wonderful.)_


	16. Moving forward

Lisswyn was still sitting with Hilde when the kings came in, followed by the boys and Brynwyn.

King Elessar came over and knelt beside her. "How is your head?"

Conscious of Eomer-King standing in the door, she shrugged. "Manageable." Not for all the horses in the Riddermark would she admit to anything more with him there.

The King of Gondor seemed to understand, did not press her on it. "Any dizziness?"

"Some, but it has settled."

He nodded. "Good. After the service, you will rest again."

She noted it was a command and could only feel grateful.

Guards were now in the room, wearing the colors of both the Riddermark and Gondor. She braced herself for the shame of having one of them assist her, but instead had to endure a worse embarrassment when King Elessar himself picked her up. Did the man not yet completely grasp what it meant to be king? That he had no business hauling around an injured woman?

Apparently not. He carried her into the cave they had used as a kitchen, and she realized that Maegwen must be in the room off to the side. Eoden's room. Perhaps that was appropriate. She could see the pile of rocks, forced her mind away from it. She would not think about those stones, nor what they covered. Additional rocks were piled outside the opening, ready to seal it once the funeral was over.

The room was full of the other women and the children. Eomer-King stood near the door to the small room, with the boys on either side of him. Hilde and Brynwyn followed them in, and outside, she could see the guards.

King Elessar sat her down on a pile of furs, and she immediately began to struggle up, bracing herself on the wall. Oh, no. No. Absolutely not. You honored the dead by standing for them. She would not dishonor Maegwen by sitting through the service.

The room dipped and spun, but she made it to her feet, only to realize the King of Gondor was supporting her, a resigned look on his face. And then suddenly the boys were there, Eoden on her other side, Andric standing in front of her, with Brynwyn wiggling in to rest against her leg, between the boys. She couldn't fall now even if she went completely senseless again.

She closed her eyes against the dizziness, then opened them, looked toward the cave where Maegwen was laid. As her glance slid past the King, she realized he was watching her, but she focused her eyes on the pile of rocks, too afraid of what she might see in his eyes if she looked closely at them. He had not spoken to her since calling her on her selfishness.

His voice was quiet when he began to speak. "This day, we honor Maegwen, who chose to face evil that others might have a greater chance to live." He hesitated, appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "In light of the arrival of King Elessar and the riders, it is easy to doubt decisions that were made in the hours before the battle. But everyone who stayed made the same choice, with no hope of survival. To question those decisions now will not bring Maegwen back; it only focuses on the guilt we feel for not finding a way to save her, or that we survived when she did not, rather than on her and honoring the choice she made."

"If we could go back, if we faced the battle knowing only one would not survive it, would Maegwen have chosen any differently? Even if there had been the foresight to know that she would be the one who did not?"

He paused, looked around. "All of you knew her better than I did. Would you not say that she would have made the same choice, gladly, if she knew it would spare her sons? Her friends?"

Silence lingered for a moment. His voice was very soft when he continued, and Lisswyn had to strain to hear him. "We all know, can see, the courage that Maegwen displayed in choosing to stay and fight. Living without her takes a different kind of courage."

His eyes met Lisswyn's and she felt the words like a slap. It was not enough that he thought her selfish, but now he felt it necessary to call her a coward publicly? Who else had been guilty of not wanting to live in light of Maegwen's loss? She flinched before she could control it, and nearly missed his next words.

"It takes courage to live here, in these caves. To make your way here, to find ways of making it work. Just as it took courage to come up with a plan that required asking friends to die for other friends." At that, her head snapped up. He was watching her, a steady, warm look in his eyes. And not a trace of censure on his face. She was aware of others in the room turning to look at her, of Eoden's arm tightening around her. Color came into her cheeks.

"I believe it is your duty as Maegwen's sons and friends to seek to live your lives the way she would have wanted you to do. To work hard, to care for each other. To live honorable and noble lives with as much joy and contentment as you may find."

"And I believe it is my duty as your king to make sure that such sacrifices as the one she made become unnecessary."

He paused once more, then slowly added, "That is how we will best honor her memory."

He nodded at Brecka, and she softly began to sing the lament. Lisswyn swallowed hard, fought the tears. They would come, and perhaps she would even allow them to do so – there had been wisdom and healing in the King's charge to them. But for now, her first thought was the boys. In front of her, Andric's shoulders were shaking with sobs, and beside her, silent tears were leaking down Eoden's face.

Awkwardly, since her injured arm was tightly bound, she turned Andric around and he buried his face in her chest. Eoden wiped his tears, appeared to struggle before his own face crumpled, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

Lisswyn swallowed several times, determined to be strong for them. But it was hard to do when their grief was washing over her. A tear escaped, rolled down her cheek. She rested her cheek against Andric's head, sighed. And found comfort in their closeness, even while she fought hard to force her tears away.

Aware of movement on her left, she looked up and realized that Eomer-King was replacing King Elessar at her side, his arm around her, supporting her. It flustered her in ways the King of Gondor's nearness had not, and she ducked her face back into Andric's hair.

* * *

Eomer had spent most of the day planning for the trip back to Edoras. Aragorn had left with some of his men immediately after Maegwen's funeral, returning late in the afternoon. They had scouted the area for any sign of the orcs, and not having found any, the men were satisfied that at least the first day of the journey would be safe. Tomorrow, some of the riders would ride ahead in the same fashion, then return, while others would continue on to Edoras. 

The women had packed their few belongings into the carts his men had acquired, and again he'd been reminded of how little they had. That would change when they got to Edoras. None of the women seemed to be aware of how indebted he was to them, but that did not change the fact that he felt he owed them better lives than they had managed in the caves, both as their king and as an injured man they had taken in and cared for.

He had checked on Lisswyn several times, but she had always been asleep, with either Hilde or the pregnant woman, Liffild, nearby. Aragorn had told him that the rest was good for her – that she needed to balance staying up for longer periods of time with getting a great deal of sleep. Her sleep had seemed peaceful, and he had to be content with that. But she was still very pale.

He was coming down the path from looking in on her when he encountered Aragorn.

"Is she still sleeping?"

Eomer didn't bother wondering at the other man's assumption that he'd been checking on Lisswyn. "Yes."

"She will be fine, Eomer. There's no sign of infection, her vision is improving…she's just still weak from the blood loss. But she will recover."

He nodded, but looked back up toward the cave with a troubled expression on his face. "It is not her physical injuries that concern me."

"Although she has yet to fully release her grief, I believe what we're seeing now is healthy. When awake, she's been taking a greater interest in the boys, in her sister." Compassion entered his voice. "Grief does not always end in death, Eomer."

Eomer turned back to him. "She seems so fragile. So vulnerable."

"And so she is. Physical injuries can make it more difficult to survive losses like that of her friend." His expression turned thoughtful. "And has it occurred to you that perhaps much of the vulnerability you see has to do with you?"

Eomer gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean?"

Aragorn hesitated before speaking. "She has feelings for you. I would not presume to guess at their depth nor nature, but you are first and foremost her king. That …complicates things. Even if she senses that you return those feelings, she does not know what they might mean for the future, if anything. She is not free to relate to you only as a man, not when you are also her king. The uncertainty makes her more vulnerable, to you, to what you say, to how you relate to her."

She was not alone in respect to feeling vulnerable, though Eomer didn't point that out. "I will not hurt her."

"You will not intend to," Aragorn corrected gently.

He wondered if Aragorn was referring to his own situation with Eowyn, but it was completely different. Unlike Aragorn, he had feelings for Lisswyn, even if he was not yet completely sure what to do about them. Then he remembered her response that morning when he'd made the initial comment about courage during the service for Maegwen. He'd caught the flinch she could not hide, and been startled by it. It had taken him a moment to realize she somehow thought he was calling her a coward – he, who thought she was one of the most courageous women he knew.

He nodded slowly, started to make another comment, when he heard someone on the path behind him. Looking up, he saw Brynwyn making her way down. She reached them and very solemnly bowed. She did not always remember the courtesy, something he had personally found rather refreshing – but which he'd heard Hilde lecturing the little girl about earlier in the day. He exchanged a secret, amused look with Aragorn at the little girl's somewhat awkward attempt before reaching out and gently touching her shoulder.

"What is it, Brynwyn?"

She looked up. "Hilde says the evening meal is nearly ready, and wonders if you will join us or eat with your men?"

Aragorn smiled at her, then turned to Eomer. "I will check with our men, will do a final check that all is ready for our departure. I will leave you to the pleasure of dining with the women." He nodded respectfully to Brynwyn, who beamed in pleasure at the adult action, then turned and headed back toward the camp.

Eomer turned, followed the little girl back up the path.

* * *

The cart lurched as it went over a sharp rock, and Lisswyn winced at being rattled awake again. Perhaps walking to Edoras would, in fact, have been easier than this. Mid-day was drawing near, and she already felt she had been in the cart for days instead of only a few hours. The ground was rocky, and although she knew the rider who was guiding the horse was trying to avoid the worst patches, a certain amount of jolts was apparently unavoidable. 

She had tried to sleep, but it seemed every time she was close to doing so, the cart would lurch again, and she'd finally given up. But that left only her own thoughts with which to occupy herself, and that was a problem, too. She tried to think of Edoras and the life they would make there, but that was difficult to do when she knew so little of what it was like to dwell in the city.

She still wasn't ready to face thoughts about Maegwen.

Occasionally a rider would ride by, close enough for her to see him. But it was never the rider she was most interested in catching a glimpse of. And those were dangerous thoughts, as well. The King had eaten with them the night before, but had not singled her out in any way. It was probably for the best, since obviously they wouldn't continue talking the way they had once they reached Edoras. But she missed him, missed conversing with him.

It had been good watching him with the other women, though. They were gradually overcoming their hesitancy with him, which he seemed to appreciate. And all of them had enjoyed his reaction to Liffild's announcement of what she intended to name her child: Maegwen if it was girl-child, Eomer-Oslaf, after the King and her dead husband, if it was a boy. The King had turned a quite entertaining color of red before gravely thanking her.

The cart jerked over a particularly rough patch of rocks, and she winced. Perhaps after they stopped, she could convince Brynwyn to ride with her. She had suggested it that morning, only to have Hilde and King Elessar say no, she needed to sleep.

As if sleep was possible.

They made camp late in the afternoon. Despite the slow pace, they'd made good time that day, and neither Eomer nor Aragorn felt it necessary to rush the trip. The women and children had done well, alternating between riding in the carts and occasionally walking along beside them in order to stretch their legs.

But Lisswyn had looked particularly pale and it was as much for her as for any other reason that they had stopped when they did. Aragorn had been troubled by her appearance, had speculated that perhaps she wasn't getting any rest at all in the cart.

Eomer had told him that every time he'd checked on her she'd seemed to be asleep. He had not volunteered the degree to which he'd been a bit disappointed by that.

It was now fully dark, the evening meal had been eaten, and the camp was settling down for the night.

The women were sleeping in two large tents, the ones carried by their men for him and Aragorn. He suspected that some of the riders were scandalized by their kings sleeping on the ground next to the fire, but he and Aragorn were rather enjoying it. It was a nice night, if a trifle cool, and he had missed this, had missed sleeping in the open.

He could almost imagine that he was still just Third Marshal.

The boys were with them, had been thrilled when he suggested they join him and Aragorn at their fire, and had listened, wide-eyed, to the discussions between the kings and their captains. There still had been no sign of the orcs. What neither he nor Aragorn had spelled out in front of the boys was that that was both bad and good. Good, because there would be no threat to hinder their arrival at Edoras, and bad, because they knew there were more orcs out there. They just didn't know where they had gone.

With a sigh, he stretched out in front of the fire, prepared to get some sleep.

* * *

Lisswyn woke, stiff. She'd been asleep for hours, ever since they made camp and the tent had been pitched. 

But she'd dreamed of Maegwen. She sat up, tried to shake herself out of the nightmare. How many times would she have to watch her friend die? She swallowed against the knot in her throat, and knew this time she wasn't going to be able to push it away. The dream had been too real, too close.

A little moonlight came through the door of the tent, enough for her to see the women and children asleep around her. She swallowed hard again, desperate not to wake them. They'd been traveling hard all day, and deserved some sleep.

Tears starting to slide down her cheeks, she pushed herself up. Earlier, she'd walked on her own a bit, surrounded by a crowd acting as if she had done something spectacular.

Wobbling, and annoyed that she could still be so weak and unsteady, she made her way out of the tent, then turned to the right. Despite her exhaustion, she had noted earlier that they were camped next to a small stream bordered by a few trees. She wouldn't go far, just to the stream. But far enough not to bother anyone with her tears.

By the time she reached the trees, sobs were breaking through. She stumbled a few more feet, then dropped down on the large rocks at the water's edge. And mourned.

* * *

Eomer was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. 

"Sire?"

He rolled over, reminded himself that his men wouldn't wake him unless it was necessary. "Thedhelm?" He blinked, tried to clear his mind. "What is it?"

"Forgive me for waking you, Sire, but I thought you would want to know."

"Know what?" He forced patience into his tone.

"The young woman – the one who was injured – has left the tent. It looked like she was in some distress."

Eomer sat up, fully awake. Nodded. "When?"

"Just now. She headed into the trees, toward the creek."

He was on his feet, glanced over as he saw Aragorn sitting up. "I'll go." Aragorn nodded, and Eomer moved quickly in the direction the younger man had indicated.

He heard her before he saw her, and slowed as he approached. She was curled up on a rock, sobbing, her face resting on her knees. Here, then, were finally her tears. It saddened him that she had felt it so necessary to weep alone.

And she was obviously cold. Didn't she have enough problems, without catching a chill? He took off his cloak, stepped up behind her. So deep was her grief, she seemed aware of neither him nor the cold. He bent down, wrapped her in the cloak. She started at that, but before she could really react, he sat down on the boulder, pulled her into his lap, tightened his arms around her.

"Sire…" She tried to speak, then simply gave up, buried her face in his chest, and wept.

She cried for a long time. With his cheek on her hair, he rocked her while rubbing her back through the cloak.

Eventually, she quieted, let out a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I dreamed about her." Her voice was thick, as if the tears could still return. "I saw her die, over and over again."

"Perhaps your mind knew you needed to cry."

"I did not want to."

"I know."

"I was afraid if I started, I'd never stop." Her voice was soft.

He had no reply for that, and for a few moments they continued to sit there, Lisswyn snuggled against him, his head resting against hers.

Then she began to speak, her voice soft and sad. "She lived next to us when I was a girl. She was younger than my mother, became a friend to us both." Another long pause, as she seemed to collect her thoughts. "My mother had difficulty in childbirth. There were several babes born who did not live. Then my mother herself died when Brynwyn was born. My father was heartbroken. I was just…lost." Her voice had turned to a whisper. "I had to take care of Brynwyn, was already of an age to have been a mother myself. But I missed my mother. Maegwen helped me. Helped us all."

"Then my father died last winter, and again, Maegwen was there. She helped me say no to my uncle about the marriage, helped me be strong. To believe I could continue caring for Brynwyn just as I had before."

"And then the wildmen came, and the fires. And after my uncle made us leave his home, I remembered the caves, that some of our people had sheltered there once before, and decided to move there. I wasn't sure it would work, and my uncle told me that when I failed, to come back, and he would still take me, would let us come back." A shudder moved through her, and Eomer tightened his grip on her, as much for himself as for her. "But Maegwen told me she and the boys would come with me. They were living with a cousin of hers, and there was not enough room for them, either. She thought we could make it work."

"I was worried when the other women decided to come, too. I was afraid I'd let them down. They kept looking to me to figure things out, and I mostly managed to do so." The tears were coming again. "But no one ever understood that it was as much Maegwen as me, that she was always there for me, helping me figure things out. Helping all of us."

"Helping me stand up one more time." She was whispering again, her voice thick. "When my parents died, when we lost the cottage, she was always there."

_And now she's not. _ She didn't speak the words out loud, didn't need to. He heard them anyway.

She gave a shuddering sigh. "I know I have to be strong. I know the boys need me, and Brynwyn. The other women. But..." Her head dropped back against his chest, and there was a weariness to the way she did it that made his heart ache.

He pressed a long kiss onto the top of her head. So much now made sense about her response to Maegwen's death. She had lost a surrogate mother, a sister, a friend – all at one time.

"Lisswyn?"

"Sire?" the word was weak.

"You are not alone this time, either."

She went very still, then slowly nodded, but did not speak. And several long moments later, he realized she'd fallen asleep.

She was so much stronger than she realized, but had just lost one of the major supports of her life. He could only hope that he could find a way to fill at least a little of that gaping hole.

* * *

_A/N: Istarriel and Phia -- does that work in the 'good cry/hug/Eomer as a pillow' department? ;)_

_Thanks again for the reviews! I'm glad so many of you are reading and enjoying this. It makes my day._


	17. Journey to Edoras

Lisswyn had gone to sleep warm, comforted, and surrounded by the King's scent, that not unpleasant combination of man and horse she found so appealing. She woke with the scent still around her, and sighed with contentment before the details of the previous night filtered in and she sat up, confused.

She was alone in the tent, the other women no doubt having been up for quite some time.

And she was still wrapped in the King's cloak.

She touched the soft green wool, blushed a little when she realized he must have carried her back to the tent. His arm must be completely recovered for him to have done so. Or perhaps he'd called one of his men? That thought caused the blush to deepen, but then she shrugged, smiled as she touched the cloak.

She brought the edge of it up, rubbed it against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to remember the night before, how it had felt to be held by him in that fashion. To fall asleep curled against him. The smile grew, and she sighed.

That was how Eomer found her when he entered the tent a moment later to awaken her, and the sight of the smile on her face as she rubbed her cheek with his cloak caused a flash of heat to rush through him, made up of equal parts of relief, tenderness, and desire.

He cleared his throat, watched with gentle amusement as her eyes snapped open and embarrassment flooded her face.

"Oh, no," she muttered, and hid her face in the cloak.

He crossed over, knelt before her. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sire," the cloak mumbled.

His own smile broadened, and he reached out, tugged her hands away from her face. Careful of her injured arm, he stood up, smoothly pulled her to feet. The cloak fell off, and he bent down and retrieved it, settled it back on her shoulders. She was looking everywhere but at him, her face still flaming.

He reached behind her neck, and after freeing her long hair from being trapped between her dress and the cloak, rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Once you look at me, I'll escort you out to breakfast so the men can strike the tent." He could not keep the teasing note out of his voice.

Her response was to glance shyly up at him, and his smile faded as he saw the vulnerability in her eyes, knew this time what Aragorn had meant about it being due to him. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, then was unable to stop himself from leaning down and gently touching his lips to hers.

He felt her start of surprise, and desperately wanted to take the kiss deeper. Instead, he pulled away, settled for planting another kiss on her forehead.

Turning, with one arm around her, he motioned toward the front of the tent. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," she admitted, her voice quiet.

"No more dreams?"

She shook her head. "No. I slept very hard."

"Tears can do that." His voice was mild.

They reached the fire, and she saw some of the other women and children finishing what looked like a hasty breakfast of flatbread and cheese.

He helped down onto a log next to the fire. "You eat. I will go get the cart."

Her face fell, but she quickly replaced the expression of dismay with a neutral look. "Thank you, Sire."

Instead of leaving, he knelt in front of her again. "What?"

"What do you mean?"

"What is wrong with the cart?"

"Nothing." Appearing grateful for the interruption, she looked away, accepted the food Hilde handed her.

He turned her face toward him. "Tell me."

She shook her head. "It's foolish, sire. I'm fine. The cart is fine." She took a bite of the cheese, looked around the camp, obviously wanting the conversation to be over. But he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him what was bothering her.

He moved around her so he was once more in her line of vision. "What if it is foolish? I would still like to know why your face fell. Tell me."

She finished the bite of cheese, looked at him. "It will make me sound ungrateful."

Instead of eating the bread, she was shredding it, and he rested his hand on hers, stilled the movement. "I will not think ill of you. But I want to know."

She finally looked at him, a long glance, obviously trying to figure out how to say whatever it was. "Do you think perhaps King Elessar will judge me well enough for Brynwyn to travel with me some in the cart today?" She dropped her eyes, then looked back at him. "It is difficult to sleep due to the movement of the cart, and yesterday I grew …lonely. I am used to having her and the others around me." She finished the sentence in a rush, looked away again.

He hated that she was so nervous with him. He squeezed her hand. "There is no shame in admitting that, Lisswyn."

She looked back at him. "I did not want you to think me ungrateful for the effort your men went to in order to find the carts."

He shook his head. "I do not. I'd planned to have Brynwyn or Brecka ride with you some yesterday, but you always seemed to be asleep. Every time I checked on you, your eyes were closed."

Suddenly a new thought occurred to him, and he smiled. Squeezed her hands again. "Finish your breakfast, and I will see what I can do."

Lisswyn watched him walk away, could feel the hard, nervous beating of her heart. She'd embarrassed herself again with him. Twice in as many minutes. Why did he fluster her so? Why couldn't she find her balance around him, and be as calm as she normally was?

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks again as she remembered what had happened in the tent. Why had she indulged herself by rubbing her face on the cloak in such a silly fashion? She had known anyone could walk in and find her.

And someone had – the someone she would have most preferred _not_ to see that display. She sighed. No wonder she was nervous with him. Essentially, she'd just handed him her heart with both hands. There was no way he could have seen her in the tent like that and not understood what was behind the smile on her face.

And he had kissed her. Not like last time, but she could very nearly still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, if she tried hard enough. She wished she had been brave enough to kiss him back, and wondered what his response would have been. After all, there was no point in even trying to pretend her feelings were other than they were.

But, no. The fact that that was so did not mean he returned those feelings, and even if he did, it did not mean anything could come of them – though the thought of him possibly feeling something for her made her heart soften and yearn.

She shook her head, took another bite of the cheese. She needed to get a grip on her heart before it was broken. The man was the King of the Riddermark and not for her.

She heard his voice and looked up, expecting to see him with the cart and Brynwyn. Instead, he was on Firefoot, the cart nowhere in sight. That was good, though. Perhaps they were going to let her walk for a little while before insisting she ride once more.

He dismounted, came and stood before her. "Finished with your cheese?" There was humor in his voice again.

She looked at the ground below her hands and grimaced at the sight of the torn pieces of bread. She managed a wry smile. "It was very good cheese."

"And doesn't shred as easily as bread."

She couldn't help but laugh at his dry tone, even knowing he was poking fun at her nervousness. His eyes darkened at the sound of her amusement.

"It is good to see you smile," he said softly. Then held out his hand to her.

Uncertain, she took it, allowed him to help her up. Perhaps he was going to escort her to the cart?

"I have a solution to your loneliness."

She looked up, startled by his tone. All trace of humor was gone, and if she had not known better, she would have sworn it was now his turn to be nervous.

She cocked her head, looked at him. "Sire?"

And then suddenly he scooped her up and placed her on Firefoot. Lisswyn froze, but before she could react, he was in the saddle behind her, his right arm around her waist.

"You can ride with me."

Her heart was thundering again, but she still clearly heard his voice, soft though it was in her ear. She looked up at him, saw that he was indeed a little nervous. He could not think she'd refuse to ride with him? She smiled back at him. She'd already given away her feelings to him. What could it hurt to enjoy as much time with him as this journey allowed?

He smiled in response, and she shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. She was more or less in the same position she rode in when she rode sidesaddle, with her left leg hanging down in front of his, her right folded in front of her, a little high on Firefoot's neck, not that the horse seemed to mind. Sidesaddle wasn't normally her favorite riding position, but today she had no complaints as she relaxed back against the King, felt his arm tighten around her. No complaints at all.

He moved Firefoot forward with a squeeze of his knees, making her aware of the muscular legs she was sitting between. Oh no. No complaints at all. She knew she was wearing another broad, silly smile.

Others were moving around them, and that was what replaced the smile with another blush. What would his men think? She glanced around out of the corner of her eye, dreading to see shocked looks, but the men didn't seem to be at all interested – or surprised – by where she was riding. She relaxed again, pondered that.

They rode for some moments, and she became aware of an organization to the way the group traveled. Ahead of them, she could see the King of Gondor, surrounded by his guard. Then came the carts, with the women and children, surrounded by another group of men. And she and the King came last, surrounded by his guard. And around them, yet another ring of riders. It surprised her to see the colors of the Mark and Gondor mixed, an Eorlingas riding next to one of the knights of Gondor. But these men had fought next to each other in the great war; perhaps for some of them this was an opportunity to catch up with one another.

Regardless, it was clear that the kings were taking no chances with the safety of the women and children should they be surprised by the orcs.

"How are you?" His voice startled her out of her thoughts, and Lisswyn realized that though they were surrounded by his guard, the men were giving them some room. Enough for them to talk without being overheard.

She knew he wasn't asking about her physical injuries, and took her time formulating a response. "I'm fine," she finally answered. "Though I keep thinking of things to tell her." _Like the fact that you kissed me again, _she added to herself. "And I keep thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye, even though I know she's not here." Her voice thickened, though her eyes remained dry. "But I realized last night that she's gone on, is with her husband and the boys. And my parents," she added softly. "And I remembered something else, something she said to me."

"What?"

"It was right before the battle. She told me that death comes, regardless, but that love endures – its value unchanged by a life ended too soon. In part, she was referring to her husband and sons, but…"

"It is no less true of the bond the two of you had."

Lisswyn nodded, had to fight the tears once more.

His arm tightened again briefly as he hugged her to him, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. "I know what you mean about thinking of things to tell her," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "I still think of things to tell Theodred or my uncle; or more frequently, think of things to ask them," he added ruefully. "Of course, if either of them were alive, I wouldn't have these particular questions, but that seems beside the point."

"About being king?"

He nodded. "Theodred spent his life preparing to be king. It was just always part of who he was. It was not something he wanted, of course, because he knew that for it to happen, we would have first to suffer the loss of my uncle. However, the knowledge that it would occur at some point was always part of his identity. It was there, waiting for him."

"But not for you."

She felt him looking down at her, glanced up, then away when she realized how close their faces were.

"No. Not for me." His voice was still soft. "I'm sure there were those who thought of it, who were aware of it, that I was second in line for the throne. But I wouldn't think of it. Couldn't imagine the loss of both of them."

There was grief in his voice, and she ached for him. At least she had not lost Maegwen and her father at the same time.

She tried to think of something to say, but the words weren't there. So she settled for placing her hand on top of his, the one that was around her waist, and squeezing. He turned it over, squeezed it back.

"Theodred was to me as Maegwen was to you, a little, I think," he finally said. "He was several years older than I was, became an older brother when Eowyn and I went to live at Meduseld." Humor moved into his voice. "He taught me to fight."

Puzzled by his tone, she looked up. He smiled at her. "It was not long after we'd arrived, and he found me scrapping with a boy somewhat older than I was. The boy had made a comment to the effect that Eowyn was not very girl-like, which of course she was not, but which I took offense to. I was mostly losing the fight when Theodred stepped in and broke it up. Then he told me if I was going to fight for my sister's honor, I needed to know how to do it properly."

"And he showed you how to do so?" She hated the thought of him being in a fight, which of course was ridiculous given the battles he'd been in.

The King chuckled. "Yes, after he finished beating the daylights out of me himself."

Lisswyn looked up, an indignant look on her face. "Why? He was supposed to help you!"

He hugged her again. "His first point was that I should pick my battles, and going after someone that much older and bigger than me with my fists was unwise." He glanced down at her. "I found out later that he tracked the boy down and gave him twice what he gave me, both for insulting Eowyn and for fighting with me. That boy and I later became good friends." His tone turned serious again, and she winced. Knew what was coming before she heard the words. "He died with Theodred."

"I'm sorry, my lord."

He shook his head. "Sometimes the best you can hope for is to die with honor, and he did." His voice quieted. "As did my uncle and cousin. But that leaves me as King, something I think neither I nor the Mark were prepared for."

"You are a good king."

"Thank you. I do my duty. I do my best. But I am a warrior, not a statesman, and I fear the Riddermark will suffer for that."

She shook her head. "We need who you are. You may be a warrior, but right now that's not a bad thing, my lord." She motioned around them, to the riders constantly on the lookout for orcs.

He nodded a bit absently, and then was silent for a while before saying very softly, "Theodred did not have my temper."

A shiver moved through her as she understood the degree to which he was exposing himself, to her, and it took a moment to find a response. "Sire, as one who has been on the receiving end of your temper more than once," she allowed a touch of humor to lace her voice, "would you trust me when I tell you that your people know there is more to you than that?" She looked up at him, her face now solemn, earnest. "Most of the time, your temper is because you care so much, so deeply, about the Mark. About your people. And that matters far more than occasional lapses of self-control."

Heat came into his cheeks, and his eyes darkened. She saw him swallow.

"Thank you for that." His voice was husky. Then he leaned down and kissed her again, allowed it to linger for a moment. Did not seem to care that they could be seen.

Lisswyn didn't care either while his lips were pressed to hers, but when he raised his head, she felt her face heat with embarrassment, which she hid by tucking her head under his chin.

A comfortable silence fell between them. Eomer thought about what had just happened, what she had said, and knew for certain his heart was lost to her. Although both Eowyn and Aragorn had guessed at some of it, he had told no one else of his fears that his temper would harm the Mark in some way, or the other doubts he still struggled with concerning his kingship.

And with just a few words she had known how to encourage him. She hadn't tried to flatter him, as he'd discovered some would after his ascent to the throne, and she hadn't tried to deny the reality of his occasional losses of self-control, but had framed it in the larger perspective of who he was.

She'd even gently teased him. He loved the fact that they could relate that way. He smiled at the memory of her comment about having been on the receiving end of his temper. She had been, at that. And yet, she had seen beyond it.

His smile faded. He had spoken to her of his duty to the Riddermark. That duty shaped his life now, guided his choices. Resulted in days spent inside with advisors and council members when he would have preferred being outside, riding across the plains on Firefoot. But would it also choose his mate? Would he have to put the best interests of his country over the best interests of his heart, if the two could not be reconciled?

And wasn't there a point where a contented king would _be_ in the best interests of the Mark?

She shifted, and he looked down, only to realize she'd fallen asleep. He smiled, and shifted her into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, then tucked his cloak more securely around her. It was the second time in a matter of hours that she had fallen asleep in his arms, and he found he liked it, very much.

He leaned down and dropped a light kiss on her forehead, reflecting rather wistfully that it was something he'd like to get used to.

Lisswyn had slept until their mid-day break, after which Eomer had helped her into the cart along with Brecka and Brynwyn. Her obvious disappointment at having slept for so much of her ride with him had caused him to quietly promise her another one. He still wasn't sure she understood that their riding together had been as much for him as for her.

But now he rode in silence next to Aragorn, trying to find the words that would open the conversation he wanted to have. The other man was also quiet, his silence indicating that he knew there was something Eomer wished to discuss.

Eomer finally gave up on finding an easy entrance into what he wanted to know. "How well do you know the Prince of Dol Amroth?"

Aragorn did not look surprised at the question. "Imrahil?" Then he paused, considered carefully before answering. "He is a good man. Honest. Loyal. His friendship is one of the things I've been most grateful for during the past months." He looked over at Eomer. "Much like you and Faramir, in that respect." After a moment, he continued, "He is a very proud man, though. And justifiably so. There is long linage there. Why?"

It was the pride part that could be the problem, Eomer reflected. He did not answer Aragorn right away, also felt the need to choose his words carefully.

"As Third Marshal, I never thought about marriage. There was simply no time. It is possible I might never have married. But no sooner had Sauron fallen than did my love life become a chief topic of interest to all manner of people." Wryly, he added, "even elderly women of _your_ realm felt compelled to ask when I would wed and get a wife with child." He sighed with remembered frustration. "I was much preoccupied at the time, and knew not what to say. There were no women I was particularly attached to. And then one afternoon shortly before your coronation, Faramir, Imrahil and I were passing time in one of your gardens, and Faramir, who is quite fond of his cousin, wondered aloud if perhaps I and the Princess Lothiriel might suit."

Eomer glanced at Aragorn and knew from the neutral expression on his face that his words had not been a surprise. He sighed. "Imrahil looked at me as if he had caught me trying to steal one of his horses, but said such an arrangement could benefit everyone, though he would not push his daughter into something she did not desire."

"And what was your response?"

"As I said, I was distracted and frustrated by the questions I was getting. I had seen the Princess from a distance, and she is lovely; I know how Faramir feels about her. I indicated that I would be willing to meet the lady, would be willing to consider such a union." He looked over at Aragorn, knew he sounded a bit desperate. "Love was not a factor in it. After all, it had never been a factor for me before. It seemed just as possible that I and the princess could find love together as did any other scenario." He looked away, over toward the cart. Lisswyn was sitting up, smiling in response to something her sister had said. "That is where we left matters," he finally finished. "The Prince introduced me to his daughter at your coronation, but there was not much time for me to spend with her prior to my return to Edoras. I had been expecting to meet her again when I escort my sister to Minas Tirith later in the fall."

"And now you are wondering whether the Prince will be insulted if you do not proceed with the possible betrothal."

Eomer nodded, had to force himself to look Aragorn in the face. The other man's astuteness could make conversations much easier. It could also be somewhat unnerving.

"Aragorn, I would not shame the Riddermark by being perceived as going back on my word. I would not want my marriage to cause problems between our lands, nor, for that matter, between my future brother-in-law and me. But…" His glance strayed again toward the cart. Lisswyn was now watching him, and smiled shyly before ducking her head in a blush at being caught staring.

"But now love of someone else is a factor," the other man finished. Eomer just looked at him.

Aragorn said nothing else for a long while, and Eomer's discouragement grew. That could not be good.

But when the other man did finally speak again, it became clear that he was measuring his words with care. "As I said, the Prince is a man of both pride and honor. But he is also a kind man, who loved his wife and loves his children. I do not believe he would want to give his daughter to a man whose heart belongs to another. For that matter," he added thoughtfully, "I do not think he was that enamored of the idea of losing her to Rohan. I believe he would prefer she remain closer to home." He held up his hand at Eomer's sigh of relief, blocked it. "But he has mentioned the conversation to me, Eomer. He admires you, and agreed with Faramir that you and the Princess might indeed suit each other."

"And Faramir is a separate matter," he continued. "You are correct in your assessment that there is much affection between him and his cousin. It is possible that the fact that you and the Princess have only met once and that nothing formal was arranged will help, but you will need to tread carefully to prevent either Faramir or Imrahil from taking offense at your rejection of the Princess."

"I think the best you can hope for is to accept that the Prince will henceforth regard you as somewhat capricious. I'm less sure of how it will change your relationship with Faramir. That may well go back to how the Lady Eowyn reacts to the situation."

Eomer winced at the thought of losing the respect of the Prince of Dol Amroth, but nodded, accepting the truth of what Aragorn had said.

"He was young, once, too, Eomer, and very much in love with his wife." The other man's voice was soft. "He will understand that, even if it does not completely lessen the sense that you have rejected the daughter whom he also loves. But the sooner you can find a way to meet with him, to be honest about what has happened, the better."

"I know. Unfortunately, I am not free to simply up and go to Gondor, not with the orc situation as it is."

Aragorn nodded. "Hopefully, that situation will soon be rectified." He glanced over at the cart. "Have you spoken of your feelings to Lisswyn yet?"

"No. I do not really feel free to, until I've cleared the situation with the Prince. But she must guess at it." His feelings must be completely apparent.

Silence fell between them. Eomer pondered what Aragorn had said. The difficulty was that essentially, he _was_ the Riddermark. If the Prince of Dol Amroth henceforth viewed Eomer as impulsive and unreliable, it would bring shame to all his people. And yet, while the Prince might feel Eomer had dishonored his daughter by changing his mind about her in such a manner, proceeding with a meeting and possibly a betrothal when his heart now belonged to another would surely be a greater dishonor.

He tried to see the situation from the Prince's perspective, and could not. He did know that if he had a daughter – frightening thought, that, and why did Brynwyn come to mind just then? – he would not want someone to court her out of a sense of duty or obligation, let alone actually marry her.

For that matter, if he believed Faramir's interest in Eowyn was anything other than love, he would simply run the man through and be done with it. Thinking of the way the Prince of Ithilien was around his sister, he smiled in spite of his own worries. Faramir was obviously very much in love with Eowyn, so there was nothing to be concerned about in that respect.

But it was clear that that man who would be his brother-in-law regarded the princess of Dol Amroth as a sister, and Eomer _did_ have a great deal of experience in the manner of how unreasonable an older brother could be when it came to how his sister was treated. Faramir was not going to be happy with him.

And then there was the problem that the lady in question also had three natural brothers who might very well take exception to the situation. He grimaced. At least he was not going to be related to them.

Aragorn spoke again. "There are two other factors you should consider."

Eomer looked at him warily.

"It is possible you've thought of them already, and if so, forgive me for mentioning them." He hesitated. "One is how Lisswyn herself will feel about being queen. It is not an easy task you would ask of her. And the second is the matter of how your people are likely to respond."

Eomer did not reply. Did not know how to. Was nothing about this to be simple? Having spent his life prepared to go without love, could he not now just enjoy it? No, of course not. He was king.

Aragorn spoke again. "You may have a better idea of the first than I do, though you may discover that while Lisswyn loves you, she does not love the idea of being queen. But as to the second…" he looked around at their men, riding in a protective circle around them, but far enough away to allow privacy for the conversation. "I believe your men have already more or less accepted her as your lady."

Eomer gave him a sharp look.

"The boys have been talking, and as a result, your guardsmen know of the journey she made, despite the orcs, looking for herbs to save you; they also know of her courage in the battle you fought. Those things alone were enough to earn their respect. If you love her enough to make her your queen, if she loves you enough to consent, they will accept her, will give her the same utter loyalty they give you. She saved your life," he added simply. "And their acceptance of her will go a long way toward influencing others. But again, do not underestimate Lady Eowyn's role in how the rest of your people will view Lisswyn as a potential queen."

They rode again in silence as Eomer thought about what the other man had said. His people's response did not concern him as much as did the situation involving Lothiriel. If he married the Princess of Dol Amroth, the Eorlingas would honor her and be proud of her, would seek to appreciate what she brought to the Mark. But there was something to be said for his choosing a woman from his own people, as well, and many of the them would appreciate having a queen who did not have to learn to love the Riddermark and its people.

There might be a few who would note Lisswyn's lack of noble birth, but for the most part, the Eorlingas were a very practical people. At heart, they valued courage and nobility of action over nobility of birth. They would see in Lisswyn what his men had seen.

But Aragorn was right about Eowyn. The people loved her, had long looked up to her in the absence of a queen. Her response to Lisswyn would be crucial.

As far as he knew, Eowyn had never yet met the Princess of Dol Amroth. Would she still see Lisswyn as an insult of sorts to the family of her betrothed? Or would she see in Lisswyn what he himself saw?

Eowyn was nothing if not fair-minded; she also loved him, would want his happiness. He would depend on that.


	18. Quiet Moments Along the Way

Lisswyn sat on a log, looking into the fire. The evening meal was over, and the rest of the women and children had gone to the tents to sleep. She would go as well, in just a few more moments. She was enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.

After the others had left, she had sat quietly listening as the two kings told Eoden and Andric stories. She knew the men were attempting to find ways of distracting the boys from their grief; she also knew they were trying to find tales that weren't all of war and violence. The problem was that such stories appeared to be what the boys were most interested in hearing.

It finally occurred to her that with the boys planning to sleep next to the fire again, that none of them would go to sleep until she did. A little embarrassed at causing the delay, she rather awkwardly got to her feet. Apart from some tenderness on the right side of her head and a sore arm, she was mostly recovered from her injuries. But her balance could still elude her when she stood too quickly.

Immediately, the King was next to her. "Let me escort you back to your tent."

She sighed a little, wondered what he would do if she insisted she could do it herself. But she might as well enjoy the touch of his hand on her back. Tomorrow, they would arrive at Edoras, and everything would be different. She looked over, nodded goodnight to the boys and King Elessar. The other man had a slight smile on his face she did not completely understand.

They walked slowly back toward the tent she was sleeping in, but then, instead of leaving her at the entrance, he led her around behind it. Confused, she looked up, but he only responded with a raised eyebrow and his own slight smile.

Behind the tent was a grassy area and then a drop-off onto some steep cliffs that looked out over a valley. The kings had judged it a particularly safe place to camp because the orcs would not be able to scale the cliffs, making it one less direction from which they could be attacked. When they left, they'd follow the cliffs as they angled down onto the valley floor; not long after reaching it, they would have their first sight of Edoras.

For the moment, though, the view was of a sky of stars and nearly full moon. Lisswyn took a deep breath, enjoyed the scent. Autumn had its own specific smell, and she was able to enjoy it now that she no longer worried about surviving winter in the caves.

She started when the King moved behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and her stomach twitched when she finally understood he had brought her here for the express purpose of being alone with her for a few moments. Not that they were precisely alone, of course. From where she stood, she could see two guards, one in either direction. And that was assigned to watch the side of the camp deemed most safe. But the guards were far enough away it was possible to pretend they weren't there.

She leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder. She had promised herself not to question time spent with him on this journey. Everything would change once they reached Edoras. She looked out at the stars, tried again to imagine living there.

They stood like that for a few moments, then he leaned down and nuzzled her cheek, and she shivered in response.

"Are you cold?"

"No." She looked up at him, and had to clear her throat. "Not exactly."

In the dim light, she saw his face change, knew he understood. He turned her around, stared down at her for a moment before bringing his hand up and cupping her cheek. His touch was warm, his skin a little rough as he stroked the flesh next to her eye.

Then he lowered his head, and kissed her.

It started very much the way the first one had, in the caves before the battle, with a gentle brush of his lips against hers. But then the similarity to that other kiss faded. That had had an element of desperation to it, had been an attempt to say something, to share something before their lives were ended.

But this was slower, more deliberate. He slipped his hands beneath the cloak she wore – his cloak – to her back, and gradually deepened the kiss. He was taking his time, a leisurely exploration that left her mind spinning with a dizziness that had nothing to do with her recent injury.

And was making it clear that he wanted an active response from her, wanted her to join him in the exploration.

Lisswyn was happy to oblige. She eased her arms around his waist, felt the cloak slide to the ground behind her. Held tightly by him, she barely noticed the increased chill, indeed, was glad the garment was gone, giving her greater freedom of movement.

The tempo of the kiss increased, and he pulled her even closer to him. Impossibly close. His body was hard against hers, and she trembled in response.

When he finally lifted his head, they were both out of breath. Lisswyn laughed weakly, rested her head on his chest. His heart was thundering beneath her cheek, a companion to her own.

"I've wanted to do that all day," he finally murmured. "Now I'm thinking it was a bad idea."

When she looked up at him, he smiled down at her, then leaned down and kissed her nose. "I've probably just guaranteed neither of us will sleep well. At least I won't," he added ruefully.

She could still feel his heart racing and it made it easy to be bold in teasing him. Her smile was a bit impish as she asked, "What do you mean?" Though with their bodies pressed so close together, she knew exactly what he meant, and enjoyed the knowledge that he was as affected as she.

He raised an eyebrow at her teasing, then lowered his head, but instead of kissing her as he had before, he moved her hair out of the way and touched his lips to her neck, below her ear.

His kiss had left her dizzy and trembling, his touch there, on her neck, wiped her mind clean. Her legs went weak, and she might have fallen if he hadn't been holding her so tightly against him. He licked her lightly, and then his beard and moustache rubbed softly back and forth over the same sensitized spot. She tightened her arms around him, and heard something, a cross between a whimper and a moan, escape from her own throat.

He lifted his head again, buried his face in her hair. He was laughing softly, though it sounded as if he were also in some pain.

"You did that on purpose," she finally got out.

"I did. Why should I be the only one to suffer?"

At his tone, Lisswyn joined him, laughing weakly.

They stood that way for a few more moments, until their heart rates finally steadied. She didn't want to move, didn't want the time to end. She'd enjoyed their teasing nearly as much as the kissing and touching, and this, this standing quietly together with strong, warm arms wrapped around her, this was nice, too.

But finally he sighed, and moved back a little from her. Bending, he picked up his cloak and shook the dew off it before once again draping it over her shoulders.

"I should give it back."

"It looks good on you."

She smiled at that, and he leaned down and gently kissed her. "We need to get some rest."

She reluctantly nodded. He turned her around and they silently walked back to the tent together. He touched his lips to hers one final time before watching as she slipped inside.

Lisswyn stepped over Brynwyn to the empty sleeping skin someone had unrolled for her, and settling down on it, pulled his cloak over her. It was completely silly that he wouldn't take it back from her, but she loved having it. Loved being able to smell him on it.

Oddly enough, tears wanted to come, and she forced them away. She would allow no hint of fear, of uncertainty about the future, to taint the memory of what had happened on the bluff.

The scene played over in her mind, and she touched her lips. Her body was still aching, and when she closed her eyes, she could reclaim the feeling of standing out there, pressed against him, surrounded by his warmth.

* * *

She was again alone in the tent when she awoke. Memories of the night before rushed back, and she sat up, felt her heart beat harder. Was it possible she'd dreamed it? No. It was too easy to recall how his body had felt pressed against hers. A delighted smile crossed her face.

He had kissed her and held her, and the memory of how he'd done so made her body tingle. And then they'd teased each other. Why was it that in the cool light of morning, that amazed her nearly as much as the kiss? When she was with him, she very nearly forgot who he was – no. No. That wasn't right. She never really forgot. It just somehow didn't matter. But now, it seemed incredibly foolish. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and the only possible outcome would be a shattering blow to her heart.

Maegwen had said he didn't have a reputation for being casual with women, and it didn't feel like he was being so. There was too much there, even in what he had shared of himself, his fears, for it to mean nothing to him.

But that didn't mean anything could come of it, something he no doubt knew quite well. She looked down, touched the cloak. She loved him, would do so whether she wound up with these few precious memories or not. In particular, she would not be sorry that she had the memory of the night before, of his passion and tenderness, to take with her into that depressing and bleak future.

She shut her mind on those thoughts, and stood, folded the cloak.

She'd finished breakfast without seeing him and reluctantly decided that something had distracted him. He no doubt had been well-intentioned in his promise to let her ride with him again, but as they drew closer to Edoras, he no doubt had more urgent things to do than to entertain her.

With a silent sigh, she stared at the cart. Perhaps they'd at least let her walk for a while at some point. She would very much like not to arrive at Edoras in the cart. Maybe if she rode quietly that morning, they would let her walk during the final hour or so of their trip.

As she was about to ask for assistance in climbing into it, she heard a noise behind her. Turning, she saw the King on Firefoot, and smiled at him, even as she felt a blush heat her cheeks at the memory of the night before.

He returned the smile. "I thought you were riding with me again this morning?"

Against her will, her blush deepened. "I did not want to presume anything. I thought perhaps something more pressing had arisen."

He dismounted, crossed to her. Touched her cheek gently. "You may presume as much as you like."

Then he led her to Firefoot, lifted her up on the horse before settling back in the saddle behind her, where he pulled her close to him.

Mute with shyness, she puzzled over his comment about presumption, wondered what he had meant by it. But he said nothing else, did not seem to expect her to talk, and gradually she relaxed into a comfortable silence. It would be easy to get used to having his arms around her in such a fashion.

Eventually, however, the scenery around them drove her to speak. "I have never been this far away from the village before."

"Haven't you?" He looked around them. "It is not so very different, is it?"

"Yes and no." She laughed softly. "I know that makes no sense. But it somehow feels different, though I can not put my finger on why."

"The wind perhaps. It blows more fiercely here than it does near your village, though today it is greeting you calmly. At times it seems it is trying to blow Edoras completely away."

"I can not quite imagine that, either."

"Edoras being blown away?"

"Edoras."

"Ah." He said nothing for a moment. "We have not really spoken of it, have we?"

"King Elessar told me of some of your plans for us."

He was silent again. "I am sorry, Lisswyn. You were not awake when the decision was made. But I still should have—"

She looked up at him, understood that he thought she was reproaching him. Reaching up, she touched her finger to his lips to stop him, then felt herself color at the forward action. "I understand why the decision was made. I was not questioning it." She turned, looked again toward where her first sight of Edoras would eventually be. "I just can't imagine living there."

"It will surely not be that different from living in your village?"

She nearly laughed out loud. Could the man be that dense? Strangling her amusement, she asked a different question rather than trying to respond to his. "King Elessar said something I did not quite understand, though."

"What is that?"

"He said cottages are standing empty due to the war, and that is where you plan to put us. But I did not realize that that many of the women of Edoras died."

"They did not." He sounded sad, and she was sorry she'd asked the question. "But many widowed women chose to relocate, either to return to the villages of their youth, or to live with their grown children – including some daughters who were themselves widowed."

There was another pause, as Lisswyn thought of Maegwen and Liffild, and all the other women who had been widowed by the war. Then she changed the subject. "What will we do there?" She asked the question hesitantly, feeling a bit foolish.

"Many of the cots, including the ones I intend to place you in, belong to Meduseld and are attached to the royal household in some way. There are farms, gardens, orchards, sheep, all that need tending." After a moment, he continued, "Your people have suffered enough. My desire is to give them places to live in peace and security, doing meaningful work that they can again find joy in." His voice was soft, then he looked down, frowned.

"I've been assuming that that those kinds of tasks, which Edoras is in great need of at the moment, will suit them. But if I am wrong in that, and there are those who are skilled in other areas, I will rely on you to tell me."

She shook her head. "You are correct. We were a simple farming village, and the women will be more than content with that kind of life again." She sighed softly. "At least most of them will."

"You are thinking of someone who will not?"

"I am worried about Maegwen's boys." She had also noticed that he had made no reference to Edoras needing another weaver, either, but that was fine. She would cheerfully farm if it meant food and shelter for the children, and would perhaps eventually be able to acquire a wheel and loom.

"In what way?"

"I know how to care for Brynwyn. But as much as I love the boys, I am not sure what they need right now. I am not sure how to help them through their grief." Her voice thickened on the last word, as her own grief rose up to choke her. His arm tightened around her waist in response, and he squeezed her hand.

"Will you trust me with them?" The question was softly asked.

She looked up at him. "Of course. But…"

"What?"

"What do you plan for them? May I ask?"

"Certainly." He frowned. "I do not plan to take them from you. They need you."

He was silent for a while. "Eoden will eventually become a warrior, I think, whether we will it or not."

"I do not." Her voice was sharp, and she winced at the tone.

His was gentle in response. "I do not believe we will be able to prevent it. I see the anger in his eyes. He will never forget watching his mother die, will never forget knowing how his father and brothers died."

The memory of Maegwen's death was still too close, too fresh. Lisswyn fought down the tears, had to swallow hard, and still they escaped. She wiped them away, frustrated. But the King merely shifted her so she could lean more fully into his chest.

"It is not only the boys who yet grieve for Maegwen, Lisswyn." His voice was still soft.

She nodded, swallowed, and cleared her throat. Did not bother apologizing. "I do not want him to die as they did."

"Neither do I. And as I've said before, my desire is that by the time he is old enough to think of being part of an eored, that there will no longer be any great danger to it. There was a time, long ago, where we lived in relative peace, and riders in most eoreds were first and foremost horsemen. That is my hope for him. But I do not think there is any point in pretending that as long as there are orcs anywhere still threatening the Mark, his first thought will be to be there, fighting them."

"And Andric?"

"Andric…Andric will fight when it is necessary, but will be first and foremost a horsemaster. He has a special talent with them that is a joy to watch."

She nodded, appreciated that he already seemed to have such an accurate sense of the two boys.

"That is what you anticipate for their futures. What of now?"

"I think to have them spend most of their days in the stables at Meduseld."

Lisswyn looked up at him, troubled. They would love it, of course, as it meant being around the horses. But it sounded like a lot of hard work. They were still so very young, and hurting.

"You doubt my choice."

Flustered, she shook her head, knew it for a lie, knew he did as well.

"I do not blame you. But they will be fine there. The head of the stables is a man named Breghelm. You will like him. He will keep them busy, but will let them talk about their parents, their brothers, as it seems necessary. He will not push them too hard, Lisswyn, either in physical work or in things that might cause them pain."

She didn't answer, was not sure how to do so.

"Maegwen's boys will not be the first orphans he and his horses have helped to heal." His voice was very soft.

She looked up, startled. Knew he was talking about himself.

"I was very angry when I arrived at Meduseld. Angry at my father for allowing himself to be killed by the orcs, angry with my mother for not surviving her grief. Angry at myself for not somehow being able to do something about it. Any of it. I was eleven, and nearly uncontrollable."

There was a long pause before he continued. "My uncle loved me, and wanted to help me, but I would not allow him to do so. I was civil to no one save my sister. And then I lost my temper and did something …inexcusable."

She looked up at him. "What?" Only after the question was out did she notice his face was tinged with red, which deepened as he looked down at her. "You do not have to tell me. Forgive me for asking." She rushed to reassure him, dismayed that she had managed to embarrass him.

He shook his head. "I do not mind your questions, do not mind telling you, though even now the memory of my destruction shames me."

He was quiet for a moment. "As I said, I was very angry, at very nearly everyone around me, and particularly myself. I wanted to fight, to be trained in the use of a sword, but my uncle judged me unready, mostly due to my temper."

"That is why you recognize Eoden's anger for what it is." She said softly.

He nodded before continuing. "One day, after he had again denied me, trying to point out that until I mastered my rage, it would be dangerous for me to be in training, I went into the room where my father's sword was being kept for me, and took it."

There was another pause, and she looked up, but he was looking away, over the fields, lost in memory. "And then I sneaked into the stables with it while the tackmaster was out and destroyed my uncle's formal saddle." He gave a quiet sigh. "It was a beautiful piece of leather-working that had been used by the Kings of the Mark for many years during certain ceremonial occasions, and I hacked it to bits."

Turned from him again, Lisswyn could not help a wince at the thought of the loss of something some craftsman had no doubt put much effort into.

"There were those who counseled my uncle that the only hope for me was a sound thrashing. To some of them, I was just a spoiled young boy who had destroyed an heirloom. But my uncle knew it was my grief that was driving me, and because of that, he was reluctant to be over-harsh with me, despite what I had done. He just was not sure how to help me. He was spending as much time with me as he could – time I was not appreciative of, of course – and was at a loss as to how to reach me before I destroyed all of Meduseld and myself in the process."

"I believe it was finally Breghelm, who my uncle was quite fond of, that suggested I be punished in another way, and thus I was sent to work in the stables. Unlike Eoden and Andric, I did not want to be there. But Breghelm…" his voice softened. "He was more patient with me than I deserved. He put me in charge of one of the horses that was about to foal, and by the time she did, my heart was easing some. Horses can do that, somehow. And against everything I expected and knew I deserved, my uncle gave me the colt for my own."

At the thought of the grieving young boy, a tear slid down her cheek, and Lisswyn brushed it away before looking up at him. "I am glad you were not thrashed."

He smiled before leaning down to press a kiss into her hair. "I no doubt deserved it." He was silent again, and the smile faded. "I eventually came to understand and appreciate my uncle's mercy as well as his love. He continued to spend much time with me, as well as with Eowyn. And when he realized that I was quite taken with Theodred, as younger brothers often are with much older ones, he encouraged my cousin to spend as much time with me as he was capable of as well."

"And I am the man I am today due to the efforts of all three of them." He looked down at her again. "So you see, there is no one I can trust the boys to more than Breghelm. I will spend time with them as well, but the stables will be a good place for them to be, and he will care for them. Differently than you would, but with no less compassion."

She had to clear her throat. "Thank you for that, and for the interest you take in them."

"I care for them, Lisswyn. They are good boys, and I am proud that the Riddermark has such fine men in its future. And while I believe all of the Mark and Gondor owe them the best future we can provide due to where and how they lost their father and brothers, I owe them a personal debt as well for Maegwen's loss." His voice was soft. "You may not recall it, but you were not the only one to make a promise to Maegwen as she was dying. And the boys themselves make it an easy promise to want to honor."

She nodded, wiped her face of tears again, and was glad when they lapsed back into that easy silence.

After lunch, the King offered to let Brynwyn ride with him for a while, and Lisswyn quite willingly went into the cart. Her sister was wildly excited at the honor of riding with him on Firefoot, and seeing the two of them together brought forth a bittersweet emotion Lisswyn couldn't completely identify.

Hilde and Brecka were in the cart with her, and she turned to the younger woman. They hadn't really spoken since before the battle, something Lisswyn regretted.

"How are you?" she asked the question gently, wondering if Brecka would even want to talk.

Brecka didn't respond at first, turning instead to look back in the direction from which they'd come, toward the caves they could no longer see, and the village that no longer existed.

But when she looked back at Lisswyn, her eyes were dry. "I did not want to live. I couldn't imagine doing so without her." Silence stretched as she seemed to struggle to find the right words. "But after the battle, when I realized that of the three women who went into it, I alone escaped injury…it was clearly not my time to go." Sorrow washed over her face, and she had to clear her throat. "I will miss her, and the rest of my family, every day, for the rest of my life. But I will live."

Moved by the younger woman's strength, Lisswyn tried to find an appropriate response. But before she could do so, Brecka changed the topic by motioning in the other direction. "It would be easier, though, if I knew exactly what to expect when we reach Edoras."

This she could respond to. "Many of the women who were widowed by the war have now left the city, and there are cottages standing empty. The King says they are in great need of the skills we have – farming, herding." Put that way, it sounded so focused on Meduseld's needs. It was more than that, but she didn't know how to explain what she'd heard in his voice. He was concerned with providing more than just food and shelter for them. Certainly more than just replacing workers. There had been so much more than that in his voice. He wanted to provide them with good lives. He wanted to give them hope. But she couldn't find the right words to say so.

"He sees us as his kin." Hilde spoke for the first time, and both Lisswyn and Brecka simply stared at her.

"What?"

"Before the battle, before we left for the cliffs, he gave me his seal, told me that sooner or later his men would come, and I was tell them all that had happened, and that we were to be treated as his kin. I thought it was just words," she admitted. "I thought it was just because he couldn't figure out how to save all of us. But when I gave it back to him, after the battle…" she fell silent.

"What?" This time it was Brecka who asked the question.

"He told me that nothing had changed," Hilde finally replied. "I'm not exactly sure what he means by it. But I do not think he wants us to fear that the people will see us as so many more mouths to feed."

Lisswyn looked over at the man in question, saw him bent low over Brynwyn, answering a question. "He is a good man," she said softly.

"Aye, he is." Hilde said. "And you've been spending a lot of time with him. Is that wise?"

Trust the older woman to get straight to the heart of things. "Probably not," Lisswyn answered, turning back to her. "But I'm not sorry for it. I can not be, even though I know he is not free simply to pursue any woman he might be interested in, either." She hesitated, stared off in the direction they were heading. "We'll reach Edoras in a few hours, and everything will change. I know that. He will have many duties to attend to, and so will we, as we settle in. I doubt we'll even see him that often."

She hid from the other two women just how desolate that thought made her feel.

* * *

_A/N: Eomer's story of his childhood at Meduseld may sound familiar if you've read my story, Swords and Saddles -- when I wrote this part of the story originally, my beta was curious for more details, so I provided them, then posted the result._

_Leaf of Lorien: Keep guessing. (grin)_

_Istarriel: LOL. Thanks for much for your comment. Knowing that you like my OC that much made my day. _

_Phia: I'm so sorry you've been hammered so hard by the hurricanes! Fingers crossed that the rest of the season is storm-free. As to why they don't tell each other how they feel -- Eomer feels he can't until the other situation is cleared up; it doesn't occur to Lisswyn to do so for a number of reasons._

_Nienor Niniel: Thanks so much for your comment. It means a great deal that you actually don't want to see it veer back too closely to canon. Wait and see, though. ;)_

_For all the rest of you -- Saga123, ZombieGurl98, seyyada, wondereye, seansbeanie (I'm glad you found the story again!), Lady Bluejay (I enjoy your stories, btw -- will try to review them this week), salrianna, plzkthx101, ElvenRyder, enyamorntuilr...and everyone else, please know how much I appreciate you taking the time to review. It means a lot. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. _


	19. Arrival at Edoras

They had caught their first sight of Edoras not long after their midday break, a tiny patch of brown against the horizon of the mountains.

Now, in late afternoon, it was large enough for them to make out occasional glimpses of gold glinting off Meduseld in the sun.

Brynwyn had been delighted at Eomer's offer to ride with him, snuggling close while asking all manner of questions – about Firefoot, Meduseld, Edoras… he'd never heard her be so lively, indeed, would have been hard pressed to imagine such a thing.

And she was not alone. He and Aragorn were riding near the women, who were all chattering and speculating about Edoras and Meduseld. Many of their questions were asked of Lisswyn, but they didn't seem to mind when she didn't know the answers.

One of the men riding ahead of them gave a shout and Eomer looked up, immediately on the alert, his arm tightening around Brynwyn. The rider was pointing toward Edoras, and Eomer relaxed at the sight of the small dust cloud now rising from in front of the gates. Riders were coming toward them at a mad pace.

He could guess the identity of one of them and smiled at the thought of Eowyn. He'd sent riders ahead that morning to alert her to their arrival and was not at all surprised to see an escort coming out to welcome them home.

"Who are they?" Brynwyn sounded anxious, and he smiled at her, wondering how long it would take before she lost her essential nervousness.

"Members of my household. And unless I miss my guess, my sister will be among them."

"Lady Eowyn?" Her eyes were wide.

Eomer smiled again, nodded.

The women had gone silent, though excitement was still visible in their eyes.

He saw Lisswyn glance around, a look of dismay on her face, and recalled her desire to be walking when they reached Edoras.

It was pride, which he understood well enough, and remembering the efforts she had made in the cave to allow him to keep his intact, he pulled Firefoot to a halt.

Brynwyn looked up at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to help your sister out of the cart. I believe she'd like to walk now."

The others had stopped when he did, and Aragorn was watching him, a curious look on his face.

After checking to make sure Brynwyn was secure on Firefoot, Eomer dismounted and stepped over to the cart. Lisswyn's expression was now puzzled, and he smiled.

"I thought perhaps you might like to walk awhile," he said softly.

She looked at the dust cloud signaling the approach of the riders, then gave him a smile of relief and gratitude as she nodded.

He took her hand and helped her down, then glanced over at Aragorn before turning back to her with a twinkle in his eyes. "But you must say so if you begin to feel dizzy. I do not wish to earn the wrath of your healer."

She smiled at him, turned to take in Aragorn as well. "I promise."

Eomer remounted, and they moved forward again, a little more slowly, while they watched the figures in the distance grow until they were distinguishable as individual riders. He could clearly see Eowyn out in front, Elfhelm and Grimbold on either side of her.

The riders finally stopped, and Eowyn came off her horse. "Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!" she shouted joyfully, and ran toward him.

Laughing, Eomer jumped down and went to meet her, catching her as she threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly, realizing anew how much he'd missed her. Then she stepped back and looked at him, all traces of humor gone from her face. "We heard you were injured."

Instinctively, he moved his left arm, looked over at Lisswyn. "I was, but my wound was shallow and heals well."

Eowyn caught his glance, looked over at Lisswyn. She smiled, but the warmth of a moment earlier was gone. She walked over to where Lisswyn stood quietly next to the cart.

"You must be Lisswyn." At Lisswyn's nod, she continued, "The riders told us of you." She looked around, took in the rest of the women. "Of all of you, and what you have done." She glanced at Eomer, then back at Lisswyn. "We owe you a great debt, but never fear," she smiled. "We shall make sure you are well rewarded."

Eomer stared at her in shock. The women had taken him in, had risked their lives, _given_ their lives, for no other reason than that they were Eorlingas and had believed it was the right thing to do. To talk of rewards was an insult, however kind the tone. But had Eowyn done it deliberately, or simply without thought? She wasn't given to impulsive speech.

Furious, he looked at Lisswyn, saw the insult register, with disbelief quickly replaced by hurt. Then her face went carefully blank. "We seek no rewards, my lady, but only to contribute such skills as we possess to aid Edoras in the aftermath of the war." She glanced at Eomer, her eyes once again reflecting hurt puzzlement. "We were given to understand we would be welcome there."

Eomer forced back the heated words that wanted to spew toward his sister, and stepped forward. "And so you will be." His glance took in all the women, and his anger at Eowyn grew as he saw that hesitant, anxious looks on their faces now replaced the excitement of earlier. Had they not suffered enough?

He turned to Eowyn, made no attempt to hide his displeasure. "Perhaps you should return to the city and make sure all is ready for our return. _All_ of us," he snapped.

The anger that flashed in her eyes was quickly banked, then replaced by shame and regret as she looked around at the women. "Of course." She turned to leave, then hesitated, turned back. "Forgive me for not making it clear that you will be welcome," she said quietly. "I only meant to thank you."

She left, and grimly Eomer wondered if anyone else had noticed that her gaze had been on the other women, had avoided Lisswyn, during her final comments. He looked at Lisswyn, saw her look of tired resignation, and had his answer.

He stepped close to her. "Please accept my apologies as well for my sister's greeting. She has no doubt been very anxious for my return, and did not mean that the way it came out."

Her expression was distant and clearly disbelieving when she replied. "No apology is necessary, sire. Think nothing of it."

_Sire._ She spoke to him as she might as stranger, and it did nothing to improve his mood. He nodded, turned and held up his arms for Brynwyn. Setting the little girl on the ground, he looked over at Aragorn. "I should probably return to the city, reassure them of my health and meet with my advisors."

Aragorn nodded. "I will remain with the escort."

"Thank you." With one final glance at Lisswyn's expressionless face, he mounted Firefoot and rode off in the direction Eowyn had gone, surrounded by his guard.

They watched him depart, and then King Elessar motioned for them to begin moving again. Brynwyn, a confused and troubled expression on her face, walked as close as possible to Lisswyn. Lisswyn suspected the little girl wasn't entirely sure of what had happened, that her nervousness was a reflection of the changed atmosphere around her.

"I don't understand," Brecka finally said. "Why did Lady Eowyn speak of rewards? Does she believe us to be mercenaries? Does she not know we're Eorlingas?"

Lisswyn didn't answer right away, wasn't sure how to. That the King's sister had greeted them with such talk was as confusing as it was insulting. Was that what she thought? That they sought rewards for taking the King in, caring for him? Her gaze turned to Eoden and Andric, walking somberly on the other side of the cart. As if any amount of reward would make up for what they'd lost.

Rewards were for strangers who might otherwise not have bothered, not for Eorlingas willingly doing their duty.

"Oh, she knows we're Eorlingas," Hilde spoke, bitterness in her tone. "She wants us to understand that despite that, we will still be refugees in the hall – welcome, because of what we did for the King. But refugees nonetheless."

Lisswyn looked over at them, saw the fear in Brecka's eyes that seemed to emphasize how young the other woman really was, saw the weariness and sorrow that was behind Hilde's bitterness.

For the sake of the other women, she pushed her own hurt and confusion aside. "No," she said firmly. "We don't know any of that. We don't know what she meant, or why she said it, but the Lady herself said she was only trying to thank us. And the King has said we will be welcome in Edoras. Let's not assume otherwise."

She looked away from them, saw King Elessar watching her, an approving look in his dark eyes. When he saw that she was watching him, he lowered his head once, deliberately, as if in acknowledgement of what she had said, then turned to address one of his guards.

He knew Lady Eowyn, and without saying a word, had seemed to approve of Lisswyn's response to the women, and that was encouraging.

But it was all still very confusing. She looked around at the women once more, and sighed quietly. They _were_ refugees, but she had hoped they might find a home in Edoras, a place to belong, to begin rebuilding their lives. But if the King was wrong, and the rest of the inhabitants of Edoras saw them only as strangers to be taken in and sheltered primarily because they'd cared for the King, then that peace and a new beginning might be long in coming.

She'd heard many things about the Lady Eowyn – that she was a skilled swordswoman; that there was a deep bond between her and her brother; that she had fought and won great renown in the war; that she was to marry a prince. And yes, that she could come across as cool and untouchable. But Lisswyn had never heard it even whispered that she could be so rude.

Her renewed anger at the insult – if that was what it was – faded, replaced again by weariness. It didn't really matter what the Lady had intended. She'd succeeded in reawakening their anxiety about their arrival in Edoras. They might eventually be able to feel at home at there, but it wasn't going to be easy. Why had she thought it would be? Because the King had somehow made it seem so? No matter how good his intentions, he wasn't going to have time to spend with a group of refugees, and it was best to keep that in mind.

* * *

By the time they reached the city gates, Lisswyn was nearly staggering in exhaustion, and only pride kept her moving. She would not now go back into the cart, not when they were so close to entering the city.

She looked up, saw King Elessar watching her, a knowing expression on his face. But beyond awareness of her exhaustion, something else was there as well, as if he understood why she wanted so desperately to walk into the city rather than ride in the cart.

Once they were through the gates and she saw the steep path rising up in front of her, she nearly changed her mind. How could she manage such a march? Grimly, she bent her head, ignored the dizziness, and took the next step, barely aware of King Elessar speaking softly to the boys, or their sudden appearance on either side of her, helping her.

It was foolish pride. She knew that. But somehow, for reasons she could not guess, they'd seemingly already made a bad impression on the King's sister. How could she shy away from a mere climb up a hill, when the Lady Eowyn had faced – and defeated – the Witchking in battle? Obviously, there could be no comparison between the two of them. She was no shieldmaiden. But she _would_ arrive at Meduseld walking.

They were nearly to the top when she heard a whisper move through the women. She looked up to see the Lady Eowyn coming towards them, accompanied by a man and woman. She sighed, took the opportunity to rest against the cart for a moment.

Eowyn came, stood in front of her. She glanced around at the other women, then looked long and hard at Lisswyn, and her eyes grew troubled.

"Again, please accept my apologies for what I said earlier. It truly was not my intention to offend you."

Since the other woman seemed to require some sort of response, Lisswyn nodded while fighting back tears of weariness and confusion. "I understand, my Lady." It was a lie, of course. At the moment, she understood nothing but exhaustion.

Eowyn made a sound of annoyance, and Lisswyn jerked her head up in panic. What had she done now?

"You fool." Though the word was harsh, Eowyn spoke softly, for Lisswyn's ears alone, and there was little heat in her tone. "You look as if you're about to pass out." She glanced up at the other women, and appeared to note their subdued, anxious expressions as well. "My brother will have my head for certain for this."

Shaking her head, she turned, motioned the man forward. He looked to be only a few years older than Lisswyn, perhaps a year or two older than the King. Eowyn now addressed all of them. "This is Ealdred, the King's steward. He will be assisting you, in a day or two – once you have rested – in settling in. And this," she motioned the woman forward, "is Meduseld's housekeeper, Betta. She will show to your temporary chambers. I'm certain that you'll want to be settled as quickly as possible in your new homes, but please know that you are welcome in the hall for as long as necessary."

She smiled at them as she spoke, and the women gave her hesitant smiles in return. The smile looked genuine, so it must be only herself that had somehow earned the displeasure of Lady Eowyn. But what had she done?

Too weary to ponder it, she noted that Betta was motioning them to follow her, which Lisswyn did gratefully.

* * *

It was very late by the time Eomer finally escaped from a hastily called meeting of his council. The men had alternated between telling him how glad they were he was home, and bleating about his injury and the orcs. As far as he could discern, nothing particularly useful had been accomplished, but perhaps when they resumed in the morning, he would succeed in moving them from worrying about the orcs to deciding what steps to take next.

He walked into the main hall, wanting food, ale, to see Lisswyn, and to avoid his sister. Eventually he and Eowyn would have to talk, but he needed a little more time before that confrontation happened.

He saw her seated at the table where they normally took their meals, and then saw most of the women and children, minus Lisswyn and Liffild, at a table in the opposite corner. He walked over to them, motioned them down when several of them started to their feet, then settled on one of the benches. "How are you?" His glance took in the entire group, and he tried not to let his disappointment at Lisswyn's absence show.

"We are fine, sire." Hilde answered the question, her voice quiet. There were several nods, but it was hard to believe this was the same animated group he had been part of just that morning. Surely their demeanor could not all be due to Eowyn's earlier comment? Even Brynwyn was sitting quietly next to Hilde, a solemn look on her face. And the boys were on the other side of her, neither of them as animated as he was used to seeing.

"Where are Lisswyn and Liffild?"

"They are both resting, my lord."

He frowned. "Are they—"

"They are fine, sire." Brecka answered. "Just tired from the journey."

He nodded, and accepting that the easy camaraderie they'd shared on the journey was lost, he stood, reluctantly deciding to take his meal in his chambers. "Please let me know if you need anything."

Several of them nodded, and Hilde answered, apparently for all of them. "Thank you, sire." It was clear that none of them would do so.

Discouraged, he headed toward his rooms, knowing that shortly one of his attendants would bring him his meal.

Once in his chambers, he paced, unable to settle. He'd wanted the women to be happy here, and it hurt to see them sitting there, looking so lost. Maybe it was natural in some respects that they would feel hesitant and unsure, but then what were the steps that would help them feel settled?

Perhaps Aragorn would have some suggestions. He must have had many refugees coming to Minas Tirith after the war. He would ask him in the morning.

A knock came, and he absent-mindedly said, "Come."

But instead of one of the kitchen staff with his meal, it was Eowyn bearing the tray. "Now is not a good time, Eowyn."

"When would be? You've avoided me since your return, and we must speak sometime."

He sighed, nodded. Started over to the table where she'd placed the tray.

"I truly did not mean to upset them, Eomer."

He looked up at her, heard the frustration in her voice, and his own anger returned. "Did you not? Tell me, sister of mine, if Aragorn had offered you a reward for your feat on the Pelennor, what would have been your response?"

She stared at him for a long, shocked moment. "That was different!"

"How? Please tell me. I really want to know." He nearly winced himself at the sarcasm he had not bothered to suppress.

"It was a battle—"

"And you don't consider going up against orcs that outnumber you ten to one a battle? My apologies, then. Much of what I've considered battles in my life apparently was not!"

"You're not being fair."

"Maybe not. But what I know is that those women and children have suffered great losses in the past few months, even more in the past few days, and did it with no less courage and grace than would any soldier in Edoras. And the most recent losses they suffered because of me. Because they would not turn their back on me even once they understood the danger. For no other reason than because I'm their King and they're Eorlingas." He looked back at her, eyes blazing in renewed indignation. "And then you greet them with talk of rewards."

"I was trying to spare her from being hurt."

Ah. Here it was. It was no longer "them" but "her." Lisswyn. "From what kind of hurt, exactly? She's already nearly died, has lost a friend who was like a sister to her."

"Wiglaf indicated that it has become clear that the woman…has feelings for you."

_Wiglaf_. Eomer grimaced. The young man was a good rider, and loyal, but not the most discreet. And he'd been infatuated with Eowyn since he was younger than Andric. He had probably not been the best choice of riders to send ahead to Edoras.

"I see."

"The sooner she realizes nothing can come of it, the less the hurt for her."

Temper blew through him, and then died, leaving unreasonable hurt in its wake. "Is that so? Tell me…why can nothing come of it?"

She looked startled. "You are to marry Lothiriel."

For a long moment, he just gaped at her while he tried to find his voice. When he did, it was full of bitterness. "I see. How nice of you to explain that. Pray tell me, when will the nuptials be? And have you so informed my bride?"

"Eomer, why are you being so difficult? I do not understand."

There was genuine confusion and distress on her face, which oddly enough only increased his frustration. Stalking over to the table, he picked up a goblet, and contemplated drinking from it – then turned and hurled it at the wall. "Because I'm _not_ marrying the Princess of Dol Amroth!" he shouted. "At least not unless a great deal has been decided without my involvement!" He looked back at her, hands fisted at his side. "Who told you I and the Princess would wed?"

He knew the answer before she gave it.

"Faramir."

Naturally. He pulled out a chair, sat, rubbed his eyes tiredly. When he looked up after a long moment, he saw tears of distress in Eowyn's eyes, and groaned.

"Don't weep. Please."

"I'm sorry." She turned, pressed her lips together. "I'm just confused."

"Faramir suggested the possibility of a match between his cousin and me, and both Imrahil and I agreed it mightwork. I met the Princess for less than an hour after Aragorn's coronation, was to meet her again when I escort you to Minas Tirith." He measured his words carefully. "But nothing was ever decided for certain. Imrahil was torn between thinking Lothiriel and I might suit, and in not wanting to lose his daughter to the Mark. And for all I know, the woman in question may have already decided she'd rather stay by the sea."

Eowyn's face brightened. "Oh, but you've met her, then. I was not aware of that. And you did not dislike her, I take it?"

He stared at her, wondered when she'd become so obtuse. "No. I did not dislike her."

When Eowyn would have spoken again, he raised his hand, cut her off. "I'm guessing Wiglaf said nothing about my apparently returning Lisswyn's feelings?"

"I thought he must have misunderstood your being kind to her." She frowned. "Eomer, you can't have fallen in love in such a short period of time?"

"Time is measured differently when you're waiting to die. You, of all people, should know that." His voice was quiet.

"Yes." Her voice was soft as well. "But…"

He raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"I also know that emotions experienced during such times of stress are unreliable."

"Eowyn, have you ever known me to give my heart to someone?" A heart that was currently aching. If Eowyn would not even consider supporting him, what chance had he that Faramir would? That Imrahil would understand?

There was a long pause, and her eyes were troubled when she answered. "No. No, you've seldom appeared to be even aware of anything other than horses or battles." She paused, then continued in a voice that sounded as if she were nearly begging, "But is it not possible these feelings you're having will fade?"

"If I've reached this age without experiencing them before, I doubt it." He sighed.

"Eowyn, why does it matter so much? Contrary to what Faramir indicated to you in his enthusiasm, nothing was ever confirmed. Perhaps the Princess would not even have me, or her father would decide he could not bear to see his only daughter move so far away."

She didn't respond right away, instead walked over to pick up the goblet he'd thrown. When she looked back up, her voice was quiet. "Faramir and I were both happy at the thought of another bond between the Mark and Gondor. I thought you would be, as well."

"How many more bonds do we need?" His voice was weary. "How much closer can we be, than for you to wed the Prince of Ithilien, and for Aragorn and me to have the relationship we do?"

"But if you were to wed the Princess of Dol Amroth…" she fell silent for a moment. "You could at least try. You could give these feelings you have for Lisswyn a chance, to see if they're real, and still meet with Lothiriel."

He stared at her, completely baffled. "And then what? If my feelings prove completely fickle for Lisswyn, and the Princess agrees to wed me, then I've only wounded Lisswyn, and everyone else is happy." Sarcasm laced his tone again. "But what if the Princess comes to love me, and my feelings don't change? What then?"

Her look back at him was troubled.

"I'll tell you what would happen then." His voice was bitter. "I would feel compelled to wed Lothiriel to avoid dishonoring the Riddermark. In doing so, I would dishonor her, of course, since I doubt she'd appreciate marriage to a man whose heart was elsewhere. But you and Faramir would at least be happy. How nice that one of us should be allowed to marry for love and have a happy life. And how unfortunate that you're willing to see me forgo those pleasures as long as I marry where you would have me do so."

It was a low blow, and he knew it. He watched the blood drain from his sister's face, and didn't care. His own heart was bleeding in a dozen places from her betrayal. He turned, paced over to stare at his yet-untouched meal.

"Eomer…" there were tears in her voice, but he hardened his heart to them, swallowed against his own despair.

She cleared her throat, tried again. "I did not mean that. Surely you must know that."

He turned, looked at her. Allowed her to see his own hurt. "What I know is that for the first time in my life, I've found someone to love, and that you rejected her without even finding out the truth of the situation; that instead, you want me to pursue a relationship that might or might not work out, apparently because you like the idea of my being wed to your future husband's cousin – and that's more important than me, than my happiness, my future. What part of that isn't true?" he finished, a little desperately.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks. "The part about my not wanting your happiness." She turned her face, wiped at the tears.

And his own heart broke. He held open his arms. "Eowyn."

She walked over to him, laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it's foolish, but I just liked the idea of there being another connection between us. I love Faramir as much as it's possible to love, but I'm going…" she paused, swallowed hard then continued, "going to miss you, so much."

He tightened his arms around her, kissed the top of her head. "And I'm going to miss you." He said softly. "But our relationship will stand, regardless of whether you're in Ithilien and I am here. It does not need another bond to strengthen it. We will see each other as often as circumstances allow, and Aragorn and I have spoken of trying to establish at least a semi-regular messenger service between here and Gondor."

She nodded, wiped her face on his shoulder, then looked up at him, a weak smile showing through the remaining tears. "Tell me about her."

He frowned in confusion.

"Lisswyn. Tell me about her. Please."

There was a long pause as he hesitated. What could he say? How should he say it?

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" He looked at her in puzzlement.

"Don't think about it too much. I will not judge her harshly. I already admire her," she admitted with a slight smile. "I just want to understand why you love her."

"It's hard to know where to begin." He started slowly, then paused again. "She's brave, but I've known other women of courage. Perhaps it's that I can so clearly see her fear, and yet she goes forward anyway, does what needs to be done." He faltered, shook his head. "I could tell you of her compassion, her kindness, her wit…and they would be just words."

"But…" he stared off, above his sister's head, remembering. "…perhaps I should tell you when I first suspected I loved her." He looked down, noted the gleam of interest in Eowyn's eyes.

"At great risk to herself, Lisswyn had gone out hunting for the herbs that would treat my poisoned arm. She found some, and did her best to treat it, but there had been a long delay by then, and even once the pain was gone, there was no guarantee I would regain its use." He flexed his left arm, remembering. "The orcs were camped outside the caves, and I knew we needed to begin preparing for battle. I'd been feeling very sorry for myself, wondering how I would manage – assuming any of us survived the orcs – with only one arm. How I could lead our people, what it would be like to daily face the pity of people who thought me worthless because of things I could not do for myself."

"Lisswyn brought me a clean shirt, and must have realized immediately that I would never be able to put it on myself." He glanced down at Eowyn, knew that even now, the memory of the situation was causing heat to rise in his cheeks. "And she helped me put it on, but in a matter of fact way that allowed me to retain my pride. There was no pity, and she did not do more than was necessary, leaving me to do what I could. And all the while, she was asking me questions about the orc situation, making it clear that she viewed me as no less a warrior because I only had one arm."

He sighed. "I know that doesn't make any sense, but I suddenly knew that I could trust her. That she would always see past whatever the image was, be it King or one-armed man, and respond to me accordingly. And I wanted that."

She cleared her throat, hugged him. "It makes sense. And I can only be grateful that you had someone like that with you," she whispered.

"There's more." He paused. "Somehow, without forgetting that I am King, or losing sight of my role, she sees that I am more than that. We discussed my temper – which she has been on the receiving end of, several times," he smiled a bit wryly, "and even there, she helped me see that there is more to me than my anger. Gave me hope that others see that, too, that my temper will not be the destruction of the Mark."

He groaned. "Eowyn, I cannot do this. You know I have no words when they matter. I do not know how to explain her, only to say that she seems to see me in a way no one else ever has, in a way that makes me believe I can do this, can be King, can lead the Riddermark well…and be happy while doing so."

There were tears in her eyes again, and she leaned up, kissed his cheek. "Then I could ask for nothing more of her. Your happiness and contentment in this role you've been plunged into is all I have ever wanted for you. Please believe me." One of the tears leaked out, rolled down her cheek.

He brushed it away, kissed her cheek. "I know that. I'm sorry I was so harsh." He had to clear his throat. "It hurt to think that my marrying the Princess of Dol Amroth was more important to you than my happiness."

She shook her head. "It wasn't. Not really. I just lost sight of the need to trust you with your own heart and happiness."

"Given how seldom I've paid attention to them, maybe that's not all that surprising," he managed a grin.

She smiled back, then the humor faded. "I'm sorry for what I said to her."

"I think you will find her most generous in forgiving you if you approach her."

Eowyn nodded. "She would need to be if she is to be queen." Her eyes grew shadowed again. "Eomer, forgive me, but…"

"You wonder what kind of queen she will make?"

She nodded.

"Those women would follow her into Mordor itself; some have already done so." He thought of Maegwen, of Brecka. "If that is not leadership, what is?" After a pause, he said, "That does not mean there won't be much for her to learn. And even Aragorn cautioned me that she might love me, but not the idea of being queen. But I believe she can do it, and who could be a more sympathetic queen to our people than one who has recently lost everything?"

"She could use your help, though." He finished quietly, and held his breath. He was winning her over, he knew that. But would she be willing to actually help Lisswyn?

Eowyn slowly nodded. "Have you spoken of any of this to her?"

He shook his head. "No. I must first speak to Imrahil and Faramir." He grimaced. "As I said, nothing was ever actually confirmed, but I still must tread carefully to avoid giving any appearance of dishonor to the Princess of Dol Amroth."

She nodded again. "You know that of the two of them, Faramir may be more unhappy with you than Imrahil?"

"So Aragorn indicated."

She smiled, reached up to touch his cheek. "But Faramir is also a man in love," she said a bit smugly. "He will not long begrudge you your happiness."

Eomer laughed, hugged her.

She returned the hug, then pulled away, motioned to the food on the tray. "I will fetch you some more wine. You should eat and then get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day." As he moved to do her bidding, she finished with, "I will begin the day by apologizing to Lisswyn."

"Thank you." His voice was quiet.

She nodded. "It's going to be difficult if I can not explain about Lothiriel. But I will figure it out." She smiled, turned to go. Then looked back at him. "Eomer."

He looked up, about to put a piece of bread in his mouth.

"I am truly glad you've found her."

He put the roll down, untouched, and came, hugged her hard for a long moment. "Thank you," he said again.

* * *

_A/N: For a number of reasons (mostly involving the rather complex character of Eowyn) this was a difficult chapter to write and revise. Hopefully it makes sense, and the next chapter continues exploring some of this. I would have included it here, but this already seemed long enough!_

_Again, thanks so much for your reviews. You make my day. _


	20. The King's Sister

Lisswyn woke, confused, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. A bed. How long had it been since she had slept in a real bed? A _comfortable _real bed?

The room was dark, but there was a hint of lesser darkness coming through the window. Morning was not far off. Outside the chamber, in the main hall, she could hear signs of life. Meduseld was waking up.

She was on her side, facing out, and recognized the form of her sister curled up against her back, a comforting feeling. Light snoring told her she also shared the bed with Hilde, sleeping on the other side of Brynwyn.

And as her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, she saw other forms on the floor, on piles of sleeping skins. She had nearly been too tired to process it, but that had been one of the surprises of Meduseld. She'd always heard the house was large, it had just seemed logical that would mean many rooms. But such was not the case – although the structure seemed huge, most of it was the main hall. Betta had told them that that was to provide plenty of room for meetings, celebrations, emergency shelter, and the requirements of daily life in Edoras. At any given time, there was likely to be a combination of people from all walks of life in the hall, doing business, running errands, or simply passing time. In short, Meduseld was very much more than simply the home of the King's household – it was the very heart of the Riddermark, of the Eorlingas.

But that meant that very little of the building was given over to private chambers. Her memory was hazy, but she gathered the King, as appropriate, had a suite of three rooms, including a study, a sitting room, and a bedchamber. His sister was in the next room, which was the queen's room, when there was a queen, and served as either a private sitting room or a bedchamber, presumably depending on the nature of the relationship between the King and Queen. Best not to think of that.

The other side of the hall held three guest chambers and the kitchen, the latter with a small room off it for the cook. She and the other women were currently occupying the guest chambers.

There had also been something about guesthouses – apparently, a number of the buildings around the hall were considered part of Meduseld and served as additional rooms for guests and the household staff. Remembering what the King had said, she suspected they would end up in some of those buildings.

Brynwyn turned, digging an elbow into her back. With a grimace, Lisswyn eased up. There was no point staying in bed any longer. She had slept for hours longer than any of the other women, had collapsed as soon as Betta had shown them their rooms, and would most likely be unable to return to sleep.

She slipped out from under the furs and reached for her dress. She'd slept in her shift, rolled up in the King's cloak. It was silly, and would no doubt seem so should others realize she did it, but the women from the caves would never tell.

Slipping into the dress, she grimaced. Her first task, after finding some breakfast – her stomach was reminding her she'd had no evening meal the night before – would be to see what she could do about a loom and wheel, or bolts of cloth to begin making some new garments for them all. In the caves, it had simply been accepted that none of them had more than one dress, two at the most. It would be humiliating in Edoras.

She frowned, uncertain. How did such things work in Meduseld? Would they just give her the material she needed? She had nothing to trade except her own skills. Uneasily she remembered that the King had not mentioned needing another weaver when he listed the skills he was hoping her people could contribute. What would she do if they didn't need her?

She pushed the thought away, reminded herself that she could farm. She could also possibly serve as an apprentice healer – providing the King never told about her methods of coping with a patient's pain. With a wry smile at the thought, she slipped out of the room and into the main hall.

There was a fire in the central fireplace, and she wandered past it, took a moment to warm herself while trying to figure out where she should go. There were a few people around, but none of them was known to her. Eventually, she remembered Betta pointing out that the kitchen was off to the right of the King's throne.

The throne was currently empty, and she looked away from it as she walked in that direction. She never lost sight of the fact that he was King, of course. But somehow, seeing that chair emphasized, more than anything else ever had, the differences between them.

When she reached the door to what she assumed was the kitchen, she found it locked. Puzzled, she stared at it. Were meals limited to certain times of the day? Maybe, but then how did you know when it was time for food to be served?

Suppressing a sigh, she walked over and sat at one of the tables closest to the door, looked away from the throne.

Suddenly Betta was in front of her. "Oh, it's good to see you up and about. How are you?" The woman settled down on the other side of the table.

Fighting off an unexpected bout of shyness, Lisswyn smiled at her. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I slept the evening away."

Betta shook her head. "Don't apologize, please. One of the riders told us you were recovering from injuries sustained while defending the King. You needed to rest."

Embarrassment rushed into Lisswyn's cheeks, and she shook her head. "It wasn't like that."

The woman cocked her head. "Wasn't it now? There was a fight, was there not?"

"Well, yes, but we weren't defending him. We were just all sort of …fighting together."

Betta shrugged. "The King himself is saying that all of you were responsible for saving him, and that you were gravely injured in the battle."

Lisswyn opened her mouth to explain, then closed it. The look on Betta's face made it clear that Lisswyn could say whatever she wanted, but it wouldn't matter. The King's interpretation was accepted as truth. She could understand that, but it did little to reduce her embarrassment.

Before she could come up with a new direction for the conversation, her stomach grumbled, and she placed her hand over it, gave the other woman a weak smile.

"Oh, my. You must be hungry, and I'm here nagging at you." Betta stood.

"I tried to go into the kitchen, but the door was locked."

A dark scowl passed over the other woman's face. "The cook is good at preparing meals, but is an unreasonable man. He refuses to have anyone he doesn't know in the kitchen. She looked around, frowned. "Tille should be around. Her job is to serve breakfast."

"Ay, Tille!" she called, and then looked back at Lisswyn. "Unless the King or the lady has indicated otherwise, breakfast is usually a simple meal since there tends to be fewer people around. Will that do?"

Lisswyn nodded, thought of the times in the caves when there had been no breakfast. "I do not require much," she said softly.

An alarmed young woman – presumably Tille – rushed up to the table. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Cook had me starting to prep vegetables for tonight's celebration."

Lisswyn looked at her, confused. A celebration? She frowned. She and the other women would be in the way if there were to be a celebration. Perhaps they could relocate to the cottages.

Betta looked at her, must have guessed at the cause of her confusion. "The King has called for a celebration this night, to thank the riders, both from Gondor and the Mark who came to his aid – and your people as well."

Lisswyn stared at her, then looked down at her dress. Oh, dear. Her cheeks heated again. It was starting to feel as if she were going to be permanently embarrassed while at Meduseld.

Betta was speaking to Tille again. "Bring food to break her fast. And hurry – she's had nothing to eat since she arrived!"

The young woman scurried off, and Lisswyn smiled at the housekeeper. "Thank you."

"Most mornings, all you have to do is come to the hall, and Tille will make sure a meal is brought to you. The midday meal is served in a similar fashion, but at the noon hour. The evening meal is more formal, and tends to depend on the King. But anytime you want something, just call for Tille, and she'll be able to help you."

Lisswyn nodded, grateful for the explanation, though it seemed like it would be challenging for the kitchen staff. How did the cook know how many to prepare for if there was never any indication of how many people would be in the hall?

When she looked back up, she was startled to see that Betta was gone. The woman was fast on her feet, and quiet. But perhaps she had to be, to manage the tasks necessary to keep the hall functioning.

Tille suddenly reappeared in front of her and set a tray on the table. Lisswyn looked at it, then looked up at the young woman in astonishment. In addition to a large mug of tea, there were two different kinds of bread, several types of dried meat, three cheeses, a bowl of some sort of porridge, and three apples. It was easily more food than she was used to eating over a three-day period, probably more.

"Is there a problem? Should I fetch something else?" Tille sounded anxious, and Lisswyn had to choke back laughter that she was afraid would come out tinged with hysteria. If the King was used to eating all of this, their offerings of flat bread and chicken stock must have seemed inadequate indeed. "No, no. It's fine. There's just …so much of it."

"Oh." The other woman smiled. "Don't worry. Just leave what you don't want, and someone else will probably wander by and finish it off. Or I'll return in a while and remove it. And call me if you'd like more tea." With that, she darted away, and Lisswyn now realized there was an alcove to the right of the King's dais, apparently to another entrance to the kitchen.

She helped herself to a large slice of bread with some soft cheese spread on it, had to hold back a soft moan of pleasure at the taste. She sipped at the tea, felt the last of the early morning chill leave her body. And all the while, she eyed the apples greedily. She'd eat one of those last. How long had it been since she'd had an apple? The wildmen had burnt their orchards several years earlier, and it had not even occurred to her that there were other places in the Mark where that had not happened.

She closed her eyes, chewed a piece of the dried meat slowly as she sighed in contentment at the thought of Brynwyn and the other children being able to sleep at night – every night – with full stomachs.

Her eyes snapped open as she sensed someone joining her and she had to wipe the dismay off her face at the sight of Eowyn. She had been trying hard not to think of the other woman, or her apparent dislike for her. "My lady." With regret for the loss of the peaceful meal – not to mention the chance to finish it – she got to her feet. There was no point in staying, though, as the King's sister made her so nervous she wouldn't enjoy the rest of the meal anyway. "I was just going to check on Liffild."

"Please don't leave. I'm sure she's fine; there are others with her." Eowyn's voice was soft, and there was a pleading look in her eyes Lisswyn did not understand.

Slowly, she nodded, resumed her seat. Nervously took another drink of tea.

"I would like to apologize to you for what I said yesterday."

At that, Lisswyn's head jerked up in confusion. "You already did."

Eowyn shook her head. "Not really, and you knew it. I apologized for upsetting you, for upsetting all of you. There's a difference." She paused, stared off across the hall. "Eomer asked me last night how I would have felt if King Elessar had tried to reward me after the war."

Lisswyn stifled a sigh of disappointment that this apology, too, was apparently prompted by the King.

"You're wrong."

She looked up in confusion at the words, and flushed at the knowing look in Eowyn's eyes.

"I'm not apologizing because he told me to do so," she said softly. "But because his words helped me to see how wrong I was."

Lisswyn nodded slowly. "Thank you for that."

Eowyn looked away again, then back. "I wish for you to understand what I meant by it. It is true that I said it without thinking of how insulting it would be, but I really meant it only as an expression of gratitude." Shadows came into her eyes, and to her consternation, Lisswyn realized the other woman was near tears.

"We believed he was dead." Eowyn said simply. "A few of his guard arrived back, injured, looking for more riders to go back and help in the hunt, but some had seen him hit by the arrow, even as the orcs separated them from him." Her voice thickened, and Lisswyn's own eyes teared up in response. "We thought it was to be a hunt for his body." Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she looked away for a long moment, then looked back at Lisswyn.

"Even after Aragorn came through, we had little hope he'd find Eomer alive, only that he would enact revenge on the orcs who'd killed him." Her tone was stronger now. "So when some of the riders arrived with news that he'd been saved by a group of women – women who'd been attacked and suffered in the process – it was an unlooked for miracle, and all I wanted was to find some way to express that to you, to all of you, when we met."

She gave a wry smile. "It is usually my brother who has trouble finding the right words; in this instance, I failed utterly and offended those I was most grateful to."

Lisswyn nodded, tried to find an appropriate response. The comment made sense now, somewhat. "I understand. But we looked for no other reward than knowing that we helped him, helped the Riddermark."

"I should still have understood that." Her eyes were distant, focused on something Eowyn couldn't see. Memories, perhaps.

After a long moment, she looked back, and her voice was sincere as she asked, "Will you forgive me?"

Lisswyn was a little startled that it had even been necessary for the question to be asked. She nodded. "Of course."

Eowyn shook her head. "Given my own reaction to Eomer asking how I would have felt if Aragorn had tried to reward me after the war, there's no 'of course' about it. But I thank you for your graciousness."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Lisswyn wondered what else the King had said to his sister, and then sharply turned away from the line of thought. Again, that was something best left unpondered.

"Now." She looked up at Eowyn's voice. "How are you?"

"Fine." Lisswyn looked at the tray, felt herself blush. "I've just eaten a rather alarming amount of food."

Eowyn laughed. "You are entitled since you missed the meal last night." Then she sobered. "But there are no aftereffects from the walk yesterday?"

The blush deepened. "No. I'm fine."

"I understand that, too, you know." The other woman's voice was quiet again.

Lisswyn looked at her in confusion.

"Why you insisted on walking further than was probably wise, given your recent injury."

Lisswyn shrugged, still embarrassed. "You were right. It was probably foolish of me. But—"

"I would have done the same thing," Eowyn said. "And I did not mean it when I called you a fool – you must know that, or is that something else for which I must apologize?"

Lisswyn actually laughed at the tone of despair in Eowyn's voice. "No, I understood what you meant. At the moment, I was very afraid you were right."

They smiled at each other, and Lisswyn realized how much she was enjoying the other woman. Wistfully, she thought she might have enjoyed being able to call Eowyn a friend…if she herself was not just a weaver, and the other woman of the royal family. But those differences were there, and would no doubt be much more obvious once she and the other women were settled into their new roles in Edoras.

"Now. Tell me of your peoples' needs." Eowyn broke into her thoughts, startling Lisswyn with the command – which was very obviously what it was.

It took a moment for her to organize her thoughts. She glanced down at the tray of uneaten food before looking back up with a half smile. "The main ones are taken care of, just by being here. I had been struggling to figure out how we were going to survive the winter even before the orcs."

"But surely you have other needs as well?"

"Is there a healer or midwife available? I would like someone to check on Liffild and her babe." Lisswyn looked up. "Liffild insists all is fine, but this is her first child, and the past days can not have been easy for her."

Eowyn nodded. "I have already sent word to one of the midwives."

Lisswyn smiled. "Thank you."

"And what else?" Eowyn persisted.

Lisswyn looked down at her dress, knew she was blushing when she looked back up. "Garments. Most of us have only one dress."

"Why do you blush?" Eowyn's voice was gentle. "You lost your homes, did you not? It is not your fault that you need clothing."

Ruefully, Lisswyn shook her head. "I know that. I do. But in the caves, where we were all in the same situation, it did not seem as noticeable. I worried about it more in terms of staying warm. But here…"

"Are you finished with your meal?"

Startled by the abrupt change of topic, Lisswyn nodded.

Eowyn stood. "Then let us see what we can do for you, at least, now."

Lisswyn frowned as she slowly stood as well. "I thought perhaps if there was a loom available, or even bolts of cloth I could begin dressmaking out of…"

"Well, yes. We certainly have both of those. But wouldn't you like something sooner than that, as well?"

If she only knew. Lisswyn nodded, still confused, but followed the other woman as she headed down the hall, away from the dais, and into one of the side rooms. Lisswyn recognized it from Betta's comments the night before as Eowyn's chamber, and her puzzlement grew.

Eowyn turned, closely examined Lisswyn. "You are shorter than I am, but your build isn't far off apart from that." She turned, opened a cabinet, and after a moment of hunting, pulled out a wool dress. "Here. Try this one."

Only then did Lisswyn understand that she was trying to give her one of her own dresses. Placing her hands behind her back, she edged away. "No. I can't do that." Her? Wear a dress belonging to the King's sister?

Eowyn looked at her, an indignant look on her face. "Why not? I have several dresses I never wear. Why should you not wear them?"

"I—I—"

"Please. I do not offer it to embarrass or offend you." Her earnest expression turned to a slightly crafty smile. "If you are skilled as a weaver, perhaps you can repay me by helping me with the dresses I'll need before the wedding."

Lisswyn smiled at the thought. "Oh, yes! I would enjoy that, a great deal."

Eowyn looked dubious at the thought of it being enjoyable, but said, "Good. But you have to take several of mine in exchange."

Without giving Lisswyn a chance to try to refuse, she brought the dress over and held it up in front of her. "This shade of brown doesn't really work on me. The last time I wore it, both Faramir and Eomer asked me if I felt ill. But unless I miss my guess, the color will look good on you. Go on, try it on."

Still flustered, but not knowing how to refuse, Lisswyn took the dress, marveled at its softness. Pulling her own dress off, she slid into the new one. As predicted, it was too long, but that would be an easy matter to correct.

Eowyn had stepped back, was looking at her with a critical eye. "Yes. It looks much better on you." She smiled at Lisswyn. "You look quite lovely. I can see why my br–" She broke off, an alarmed look on her face, and turned back to the wardrobe. "I also have two other more informal dresses that I no longer wear." She looked back at Lisswyn. "Will you take them both? Please?"

Lisswyn nodded, a bit absent-mindedly. What had Eowyn started to say, and why had she seemed so flustered by it?

* * *

_A/N: A fairly short chapter, but the next one is rather long, and this was the best place to break things up. _

_As to reviews from the last chapter...wow! A lot of rather intense comments. Rika, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, particularly given your feelings about Eomer. (I confess to struggling to understand that, LOL. Eomer was always one of my favorite characters from the books, and since I'm a fan of Karl Urban's, the film version worked well for me, too.) I hope you continue to like it._

_As to Eowyn...she's a very complex character, with both strengths and flaws, which was what I was trying to convey. Based on the reviews, I succeeded, possibly more than I intended. As Elwen notes, she has gone through a lot. But she loves her brother, and hopefully this chapter has continued to show that there's more to her than initially appeared to be the case._

_Solemido: Thanks for your comments. You've highlighted some of the main issues of the story, of course. Now it remains to be seen whether I can resolve them in a credible fashion. As to the quote from Speed, yes, that's a valid comment as well, and part of what needs to happen now that they're in Edoras is to see if there is anything to the relationship beyond what grew out of a crisis._

_Phia: I'm glad you liked the way things progressed. I've always been interested in the relationship between Eomer and Eowyn, and enjoy exploring it._

_Nienor Niniel, Eirwen, ChrissieV82, dferveiro, and SmaryK: I'm pleased beyond words that you liked the chapter as much as you did, and that I managed to surprise you. Hopefully, both will continue to be true. :)_

_wondereye, Istarriel (LOL on the whip!), Zombiegurl, and ElvenRyder...I'm so glad you're still reading and enjoying the story. Thanks for taking the time to comment. _

_plzkthx101: Very astute comments, though Lisswyn has never really accepted his love in the sense of expecting anything from him, in part because she does know who he is, and in part because there's been too much trauma and confusion for her to really spend much time thinking about it. _

_More complications coming, of course..._


	21. Settling In

"Elfhelm has a valid point, Eomer." Aragorn's voice was quiet.

Eomer growled in response, and glowered at the other man, then at Elfhelm and Eothain, the other two men gathered in his study. Frustrated, he stood, paced around his desk. "I know. I know he does. I just don't _want_ him to be right."

"A traitor at Meduseld is the only way the orcs would have known your exact location."

Elfhelm wasn't any happier than Eomer. "Before you told me what the boy and the woman overheard from the orc camp, I would not have thought so. But they were looking for you. They knew you'd be in that area."

"Many in that area obviously knew I was there. It could have been anyone." There was no reply, and he knew why – they were waiting him out. Waiting for him to draw the same conclusions they'd already come to.

It made sense. Despite his words of a moment before, he had to admit that the theory was sound. How had the orcs gotten themselves organized to attack the way they did – and then do a methodical search for him – if they had not known he would be there, in that area of the Westfold? Nothing about the initial confrontation, when he'd been separated from his men, had ever felt like a random attack.

But the thought of there being a traitor in Edoras was completely galling.

"You have no idea of who it might be?" There was sympathy in Aragorn's eyes, and Eomer turned from it.

"No. All my men are loyal." He knew that. Depended on that. If it wasn't true…

Eothain nodded slowly. "I believe he's right. Most of the Royal Guard were in Eomer's eored, and are very loyal to him."

Eomer felt a slightly sick sense of relief to hear Eothain voice the words. He did not doubt his men. But the possibility of a traitor, of someone who lived in Edoras or was attached to Meduseld being willing to betray him to his death had unsettled him.

"….but there are a lot of new faces in and about Edoras these days, and we do not know them all. It would not have been hard for someone to discover your plans," Elfhelm added.

Eomer reluctantly nodded. "I do not know them all," he repeated, "so how could I ever guess who might wish to see me dead?"

Silence fell.

Eomer turned to Aragorn. "You told me that you came to the Riddermark because you saw the orcs moving this way in the seeing stone. How many were there?"

Aragorn slowly shook his head. "I don't know. Hundreds, possibly. The palantir does not always provide as much precision as I would like."

Eomer nodded, sighed. "That means that we don't know how many of them might still be out there, or what their next move will be. And we still have no idea who's organizing them!" Frustrated, he paced around again. "You said you though it might be one of the uruk-hai that escaped, but if so, why wasn't he in the battle at the caves?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know. And I could also be mistaken about it being one of the uruks."

Another long silence, and then Eomer looked up. "I will send out riders tomorrow, to see what we can learn. I know of nothing else to do."

They nodded, and Eomer turned and stalked out of his study, knowing none of the other men would take offense at his rudeness. His frustration was mounting. The Mark was under attack, and he didn't know why, wasn't even certain who was behind it. The orcs themselves, while willing to fight for any evil, would not have been able to organize such an attack.

He strode through the main hall, wondering where Lisswyn was. He still hadn't seen her. That was frustrating, too. As worried as he was about the orcs, their presence also meant he wasn't free to go to Dol Amroth and Gondor and clear things with Imrahil and Faramir.

A maid he encountered in the hall nervously moved away from him, and he realized he was scowling. That was one of the most annoying things about being King – an honest expression of frustration or unhappiness from him could cause all kinds of mayhem behind his back.

He reached the middle of the hall and looked around. No Lisswyn…but he did see two rather woebegone figures at one of the side tables. He walked over, sat down with them.

Eoden looked dejected, Andric looked to be on the verge of tears, and Eomer's frustration with himself increased. These two needed to be kept busy, at least part of the time, or their grief would overwhelm them. He should have made time for them first thing.

"How are you?" He looked at Andric, and the boy swallowed, shrugged.

"Some of the women from Edoras arrived a short while ago with clothing for us. Lisswyn and the others are all off with them." Eoden sounded very much as if the idea of looking at clothing was a form of torture.

Eomer hid a smile. It probably would be, for the two boys. He was glad for the women's sake that the women of Edoras had come through, though. "Then now is a good time to tell you what I thought you two might put your hands to."

They looked up at him, Andric looking a little more interested than Eoden. "Yes, sire?"

"Much has changed at Edoras in the past year." There was twinge of sadness as he thought of his uncle, of Theodred, Hama, Gamling, dozens and dozens more. "As you know, many good men were lost during the war, and that's resulted in some rearrangements. One of the areas currently lacking is the stables. I need for you two to help out there."

Andric looked delighted, as Eomer had expected. Eoden frowned. "What's wrong, Eoden?"

The boy flushed, looked away, then back. "Nothing, sire."

Eomer cocked an eyebrow at him, waited.

The flush deepened. "I thought I would be joining an eored."

Eomer nearly winced, forced it away. Did the boy not understand how young he still was? No, of course not. He'd been in battle, had lived through a battle. And wanted to fight. Keenly aware of Eoden's pride, Eomer spoke slowly. "And so you will be, when you're a little older."

He saw the resentment come and go, and could almost hear the boy's thoughts.

"Eoden – what did I tell you about how you fought in that battle?"

Clearly embarrassed, Eoden dropped his head. "That I fought well."

"And you did. You fought as well as anyone I've even seen in their first battle, and I mean that sincerely." Eomer's voice firmed. "But one battle does not a warrior make. You still have much to learn, with the sword, a spear, a bow – and you must learn to do it all from horseback, if you are to ride with me."

Eoden's head snapped up. "Ride with you?"

"I would be honored for you to do so – once you've mastered the rest of those skills. And you'll start with the horses. I know you can ride, but you need more experience in the saddle before you can take your weapons training there. And yes, there will be more weapons training – but not for a while yet."

Eoden slowly nodded, and Eomer suspected he would completely devote himself to horses for the foreseeable future. He looked at Andric, wondered if he'd see jealousy there. But all he saw was a look of impatience. The younger boy was already devoted to horses, and wanted nothing more than to get to the stables.

Eomer stood, motioned them to follow him. He would indulge him.

By the time he left the stables nearly an hour later, Eomer was feeling much more settled. Breghelm, with his steadfast patience and quiet loyalty, had that effect on him. In the midst of facing the reality of a traitor in Edoras, it was good for him to have spent time with the man who had been another father to him. It had also cheered him to see the older man and Maegwen's boys take to one another.

But thoughts of Breghelm's loyalty lead too easily back to the thought that somewhere, there was someone who was not, and he sighed as he walked back toward Meduseld. He nodded to those he passed, mentally identifying them, and giving sharp looks at those he didn't know, or realized he didn't know well. As Elfhelm had said, there were too many of them.

The members of his guard were loyal. He could not bring himself to question that. Most of them he had grown up with; they'd been members of his eored before he became king. But he was less sure of the rest of the household, the other folk of Edoras. Even some of the men in Elfhelm's eored, which was based at Edoras, were new and unknown to him.

It could be anyone, at least anyone with access to a horse – since the traitor had presumably followed him and his guard when they'd left Edoras heading toward the Westfold. Had followed and then gotten word to the orcs somehow. He frowned. That wasn't particularly helpful, though, given that nearly everyone at Edoras had access to a horse.

Depressed again, he moved slowly through the hall as his eyes adjusted to the darker environment. And then he saw Lisswyn, standing near the table where he'd encountered the boys earlier, and felt his spirits lift in spite of himself.

His pace quickened, and she looked up as she heard his approach. But instead of the welcoming smile he had hoped to see, he saw alarm and distress. "Sire! Have you seen the boys? I left them here, asked them to wait for me, and—"

Cursing silently for not having guessed she'd wonder where they were, he cut her off. "They're in the stables."

Her shoulders sagged with relief as he reached her side, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her arm. "I'm sorry. I should have realized you would be looking for them. I came out of a meeting and found them sitting out here, and it seemed as good a time as any to introduce them to Breghelm."

She gave him a weak smile, and sighed as she ran her hand over her face. Then to his relief, she laughed. "It is not your fault, though it would have been nice if they had remembered I would want to know where they'd gotten to." Her smile was stronger now, if a bit wry. "I daresay they couldn't get into too much trouble here, anyway."

Having once been a boy in the hall, he knew she was wrong in that assumption, but did not want to erase the smile she wearing by pointing it out. Instead, he smiled at her. "I will take you out to the stables later and introduce you to Breghelm. He and the boys are going to do quite well together, I think."

Her smile grew. "Thank you for that."

It occurred to him that even with her alarm over the boys, he'd never seen her look so relaxed, and his own tension further drained away at the sight of her smile. Then his eyes dropped, and he took in the rest of her. She was wearing one of Eowyn's dresses, and had obviously been in the midst of having it pinned up for hemming when she had come looking for the boys.

He didn't miss the significance of Eowyn clothing Lisswyn in her own dress, and for a moment, emotion clogged his throat. _Thank you, Eowyn._ His sister never did things half-heartedly, and the dress represented …everything. Others would see that as well, and relief and gratitude blinded him for a moment.

Then he took a closer look, and swallowed for another reason. The dress had not been particularly attractive on Eowyn, but that was not the case with Lisswyn. The color looked very different on her. It made the red in her hair, which he loved, more obvious, somehow, even in the dim light of the hall. And it fit her more snugly. Lisswyn was built a little differently than his sister, something quite apparent in the dress. There was nothing immodest about it, but it was nonetheless more revealing than the somewhat loose and shapeless dresses he'd seen her in so far.

Aware that his heart was beating harder, he clenched his fists at his side, and stepped back another step, wanting desperately to touch her. But now was not the time or place. He forced himself to meet her eyes. She blushed, and looked away from him. "The women of Edoras have been most kind to us in the matter of clothing."

"I recognized the dress." He managed a smile. "It looks much better on you than it did my sister." His voice husky, he finished, "You look lovely."

Still blushing, she looked back at him, a shy expression on her face. "Thank you. I thought to wear it this evening."

Eomer nodded. He would have to keep a close eye on her. Other men would surely notice her as well, an idea he found completely unacceptable. He had to figure out a way to deal with the orcs so he could go to Gondor!

* * *

The rest of the morning had passed quickly, and it was late when the women settled at the tables in the hall for a quick lunch of bread and cheese.

"The noon meal is normally more substantial," said the woman to Lisswyn's right. "But the kitchen is no doubt concentrating on the food for tonight's feast."

Lisswyn nodded, and turned to slice a piece of the warm, fragrant bread for Brynwyn. What was the woman's name? There had been so many of them. It seemed as if half the women of Edoras had arrived that morning with clothes for her and the rest of the refugees. The generosity had been overwhelming, but it had been difficult to keep track of the names.

Finally giving up, she turned back, offered the woman an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I cannot remember your name."

The woman laughed merrily. "I'm not surprised. I'm not certain we were even introduced. There was quite a group of us." She turned away for a moment to help her own children with their meals. In addition to an infant on her lap who looked to be a few months old, she had a toddler – a little boy with a mischievous look about him – and a little girl a year or two older than Brynwyn. The little girl took the slices of bread and cheese and began quite competently to feed her little brother while also taking generous bites for herself.

The smile was still there when the woman looked back, and it seemed so natural, Lisswyn suspected she was naturally good-natured. "I'm Ceolwyn, wife of Eothain."

"The captain of the king's guard." It surprised her, somehow, to think of the grim warrior wed to this cheerful and lively woman.

Humor was still in Ceolwyn's eyes. "I know. We seem an unlikely match."

Not wanting to offend, Lisswyn cleared her throat. "He seems to be a very …capable warrior."

The smile faltered for the first time, and Ceolwyn's voice was soft when she spoke again. "The last few days have not been easy for him. Seeing Eomer-king struck by the arrow and presumed dead, with Eothain unable to reach him – it took a toll on him. Beyond the king's safety being his duty, they've been friends since childhood."

"It was not his fault. The king said so."

"That would not matter to Eothain," Ceolwyn said dryly.

Before Lisswyn would come up with a response, two other women joined them at the table. The older one, Alfild, she'd met earlier, but she didn't know the second woman.

Lisswyn smiled, prepared to introduce herself, when Alfild spoke.

"Your people all have enough clothes now?"

"Yes. Everyone has been most generous."

"Charity is important. In Edoras, we take care of the unfortunates who cannot care for themselves."

Heat burned Lisswyn's cheeks as the insult registered. A closer look at the spiteful gleam in Alfild's eyes told her that unlike Lady Eowyn, Alfild _had _been deliberately insulting. But why? In every conversation she'd had, Lisswyn had tried to make it clear that they intended to contribute to the needs of the city, to give back, to do their share.

Ceolwyn was stiff beside her, and Hilde, on the other side of Brynwyn, shifted. Furious, but afraid Hilde would say something to make the situation worse and alienate the other women, Lisswyn kept her tone even. "That is very wise, as you can never tell when you might unexpectedly become one of those unfortunates."

Alfild stared at her, her eyes narrowing. Abruptly, she stood, motioned to her companion. "Come, Edlyn. I do not believe we wish to take our meal here, after all."

Still angry and confused, Lisswyn watched her go. What had been behind that? Taking a breath, she turned back to Ceolwyn, now unsure of what to expect from the other woman.

"You handled that very well," Ceolwyn said, and temper sparked in her eyes. "Alfild can be a difficult piece of work."

Some of Lisswyn's tension drained away. "I don't understand what was behind it. Does she not believe that we intend to do our part?"

Ceolwyn shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Alfild lives to put others down. She's the widow of a distant cousin of the King, on his father's side, and relocated here a few years ago from the Eastfold. She plays the 'royal family' connection hard and heavy, ignoring the fact that everyone knows she is not really blood kin of Eomer-King and the Lady, and that they allow her to stay merely out of respect to their father's cousin, as Eomund was an only child and had few relations. The real irony of her insult toward you is that she contributes very little to life here, preferring to spend her days gossiping and criticizing others. She chooses not to notice just how hard everyone but her works, including the King and the lady."

Troubled, Lisswyn watched Alfild and Edlyn settled themselves at a different table. Would the King or Lady Eowyn take offense at Lisswyn's response to the woman? No, she decided. She'd said nothing that wasn't true.

"Don't let her upset you," Ceolwyn continued. "Although it's not safe to completely ignore her, as there are those who listen to her gossip even if they don't like her themselves, most people know her for what she is."

Lisswyn slowly nodded. "There was a woman similar to her in our village when I was a child. She spread misery, and everyone knew it, but some still listened to her."

"That's it, exactly."

Fighting off a bout of homesickness, Lisswyn reached for a slice of bread. Most of the women had been nothing but kind and welcoming. She and the rest of the women from the caves would find their places here, would figure out how to make Edoras home.

* * *

The great hall was already crowded when Lisswyn arrived that evening. She'd spent the rest of the afternoon altering dresses – not just hemming the ones Eowyn had given her, but assisting the other women as well. And all the while, she'd smiled, choosing to remember the conversation with the King rather than focus on the unpleasant encounter with Alfild. The memory of the heat in his gaze when he'd seen her in the dress caused her blush to come back, even as it also caused her heart to beat in a nearly painful fashion.

But now, seeing similar looks in the eyes of a few of the other men congregating in the great hall for the celebration, she wished she'd worn one of the other dresses.

With the soldiers from Gondor increasing their numbers, there were far too many people in the hall for everyone to sit, so they would be rotating, with some sitting and eating while others stood around chatting, and then the groups reversing.

She was leaning against one of the great pillars near a table where some of the other women from the caves were sitting, waiting for the festivities to begin. Noting the frankly appreciative look of another man – this one much older – Lisswyn moved a little further back into the shadows. His stare reminded her too much of the way her uncle had looked at her.

The number of apparently unattached men in Edoras surprised her. She had expected that the same situation would exist here as in the village, with a great many more women than men, simply due to the number of men who'd been lost in the war. But that did not seem to be the case, and it baffled her.

On the other hand, Thedhelm had staked out the seat next to Brecka, and was sending off clear messages of "mine!" to the men around him, which Brecka didn't seem to mind in the least. Lisswyn knew the other girl was still grieving for her lost twin – would always do so – and it made Lisswyn smile to see her with the young warrior.

"Once the dancing begins, there will be more room to sit down."

Lisswyn turned, and realized that another of the women she'd met briefly that morning was now standing next to her. What was her name? Ah. Wynne. She was the sister of Elfhelm, whose eored was based in Edoras. Ceolwyn had told her that Wynne's husband, Hama, had died in the spring.

"I don't mind standing. It makes it easier to see everyone," Lisswyn said, smiling.

Wynne grimaced, but humor lurked in her eyes. "And there's a lot to see, between our lot and the Gondorians." She turned, looked more fully at Lisswyn. "I'm sorry I was unable to stay longer this morning. My youngest daughter is ill, and I did not wish to be away from her for long. You have adequate garments now?"

It was the same question Alfild had asked, but the tone was very different.

"Absolutely. Everyone has been very kind to us."

"Good." The humor became more pronounced. "A lot of them are hoping the fact that you're a weaver means new clothes for them." Her gaze dropped, took in the dress Lisswyn was wearing. When she looked back up, there was a speculative look in her eyes.

Confused by the look, Lisswyn smiled uncertainly. "I'll be happy to oblige them as soon as someone points me towards a loom and explains how I come by the wool."

"Harvest is the priority for the next few weeks, but Betta will probably show you the loom and wheel, and Ealdred will explain about acquiring the wool and trading what you make."

Lisswyn nodded, still confused, and turned back to watch the people in the hall. When she glanced over a moment later, Wynne was gone. Puzzled by the other woman's abruptness, though she'd sensed none of the hostility in her that Alfild had displayed, Lisswyn shook her head. Life in Edoras was going to take some getting used to.

She saw the boys come in, accompanied by an older man who must be Breghelm. It looked as if they were both fresh out of a bath, which amused her. Maegwen had struggled with them on occasion, particularly Andric, in an effort to convince them of the value of soap and water. Apparently Breghelm had resources their mother had not had. Access to horses, probably, she reflected somewhat wryly.

Thoughts of Maegwen made her throat want to close, and Lisswyn was glad for the distraction of a stir at the front of the hall. Everyone in the room turned, watched as the King mounted the dais in front of his throne. Lisswyn caught her breath. How impossibly handsome he looked! His hair was down, shining gold in the light, and his tunic, stretched taut across his broad chest, was of dark green velvet, embroidered with gold.

The room went silent, and she marveled that he could command such a response without saying a word. He was looking around, saw his gaze touch on the boys, then Brynwyn, sitting next to Hilde at the same table as Brecka and Thedhelm. Then she realized he was looking for her, and her heart leapt. Unable to repress a smile, she moved out of the shadows, felt the smile deepen when that warm look landed on her.

Only then did he speak. "We gather together tonight to celebrate the friendship between the Riddermark and Gondor." King Elessar joined him on the dais, and for the first time, Lisswyn noted that Eowyn was also standing next to the King. "If it were not for the faithful friendship of Gondor, I would not be standing among you this night." He looked over at Elessar, and bowed his head, then held out his hand. The other man returned the bow, then clasped Eomer-King's arm.

Cheers broke out, and Lisswyn smiled to see the Eorlingas turning to the soldiers of Gondor standing near them, personal thanks on their lips.

The room finally went quiet again when it was clear that the King still had more to say.

"We also gather to remember those who died in this latest battle. In addition to four of my guard who died when we initially attacked by the orcs," his gaze touched on a table near the front, and Lisswyn guessed that that was where relatives of the slain men were sitting, "a village in the Westfold, including a young woman named Theda, was destroyed for no other reason than that they did not know where I was."

His eyes moved back to Brecka, rested on her as her head snapped up, as tears came into her eyes at his mention of her twin's name. Then, as Lisswyn watched, Thedhelm leaned over and said something to the girl, and she looked up at him and smiled, despite the tears on her cheeks.

Lisswyn swallowed a knot in her own throat. It was a precious gift the King had just given Brecka – remembering Theda in front of all of Edoras.

He was continuing, his voice quiet. "It's hard to know we're still losing good men and women in such a fashion, when last spring we celebrated what we thought, what we hoped, would be the permanent end of such attacks."

Silence fell again, and there was a sad element to it.

"But we were not defeated then, and we are not defeated now." His tone was stronger now. "If I am alive due to Gondor's friendship, I am also alive because a group of women and children, living in caves, put my life and safety ahead of their own, continued to do so, even once we knew of the loss of the village."

"This is who we are," he said simply. Nodding to the boys, he motioned them to come up to him. Looking a bit startled, they did so, and he turned them to room, rested his hands on their shoulders. "We are these two, who went out amongst the orcs, without weapons, hoping to find some of my men." He looked up, met Lisswyn's gaze. "We are a small group of women – and these two – who were willing to sacrifice themselves to the orcs to save their friends, to save other children. Would gladly have done so to save me, had I allowed it."

He squeezed the boys' shoulders. "And we are the mother of these two, a woman named Maegwen, who was one of those who fought, as bravely as the husband and two sons she'd already lost in the battle with Mordor." He looked down at the boys, then up at Lisswyn.

He glanced over at Liffild. "And we are the women who, against their own desires to stay and fight, left, in order to protect children – one yet unborn, whose father also died last spring."

"Maegwen didn't make it," he said quietly. "And we grieve her loss, the loss of my men who died, the loss of the villagers. The loss of countless others even now we're unaware of – men and women who died bravely, quietly."

"And yet, the fact that we lost them, that we've lost so many good people over the past year, who died making the sacrifices which allow us to stand here – that is something the orcs and their like will never understand. It is who we are." His voice rose, was more determined. "It is why we were not defeated last spring, and why we are not defeated now."

A deafening cheer rose up, and Lisswyn swallowed hard against the tears that wanted to come. She tried to imagine Maegwen's reaction to being so honored by the king, and couldn't. A tear trickled out and down her cheek, and she turned, slipped out one of the side doors of the great hall. She needed a few moments of quiet to settle herself.

The door led to a passage that ran beside and opened into the room they'd slept in, and then led outside, to the walkway that ran around Meduseld. It exited to the outside in an alcove between the two guest rooms, and she leaned there, grateful for the quiet.

She'd never expected the King to honor Maegwen in such a fashion. She loved the fact that he had, but hearing him do so had brought the grief back.

From the dais, Eomer saw the tear fall, saw Lisswyn slip out and away, and his heart sank. The last thing he'd wanted to do was to cause her more pain.

He looked around. The room was now in full celebration mode, and as he eased through the crowd, he heard bits and pieces of different conversations, noted that on one side of the room, knights of Gondor and Rohan were gearing up for a drinking contest, while on the other side, men were pushing tables aside for a dancing area.

He slipped out, followed Lisswyn.

She was leaning against the wall, tucked just back from the walkway. Someone could walk around the building and not really see her, but her position allowed her to see out, to see the moon rising over the mountains.

Not wanting to startle her, he quietly cleared his throat.

She wiped her face, turned. "Sire." She seemed to know why he'd followed her. "I'm fine. I just needed some air."

He covered the last few steps between them, and stood before her, gazing down at her in the moonlight. With a gentle finger, he touched her cheek. "It was not my intention to make you sad."

"You didn't." She cleared her throat. "It was a wonderful thing you did. The boys will always remember it. So will Brecka." Another tear escaped, but she smiled up at him. "And Maegwen would have loved the fact that you mentioned her husband and the older boys, too." She took a breath. "I just still miss her, so much."

"I know." And then he pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, and he noted that she no longer offered any resistance to his comfort, to his touch. She sighed, snuggled against him. The gesture of trust moved him, and he leaned down, pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I like it when you do that," she murmured.

"Do you?" His voice was soft. "What about when I do this?" He pulled back just a little, enough to raise her chin. And then he kissed her.

He hadn't intended to. His plan, such as it was, had been not to touch her again until the situation with Imrahil and Faramir was resolved, until he was completely free to pursue the relationship he desired with her. But how could he not hold her, not offer her comfort for the loss of her friend? And once holding her, feeling her pressed against him – especially now that he'd seen her in the dress – how could he not kiss her?

He brushed her lips, delighted in how quickly she parted hers for him, how she responded. There was no hesitation this time, and she welcomed him as he took the kiss deeper. Her hands were trapped between them, splayed on his chest, and she was rubbing them against him.

He raised his head, took an unsteady breath, buried his face in her hair again as he waited for his heart to settle.

"Very much," she whispered through ragged breaths.

His brain felt like mush, and it took a moment for him to remember he'd asked her if she liked his kisses. His laugh was a bit unsteady. "That's good." He raised his head, then tilted her chin up. "Lisswyn—" he started, then stopped. No. He couldn't. It wasn't fair to her. He wanted desperately to speak to her of the future, but it wouldn't be wise. Not yet. Much better to wait until things were completely clear with Dol Amroth. "Never mind," he finished softly.

He pressed a kiss on her forehead, and stepped away from her. "I must return inside. Will you come back as well? I do not like the thought of you out here by yourself."

She smiled, nodded, and he realized her lips were a bit swollen from his kiss. He doubted anyone would notice, but best not take the chance of their being seen coming back in together. He motioned back to the door they'd come through. "You go on back in. I need to check something out front first." She nodded again, started to step away. He stopped her as she started to pass him, and dropped another quick kiss on her mouth before moving in the opposite direction.

* * *

_A/N: In light of policy against authors responding to reviews publicly, I'm no longer going to do so, at least not by mentioning people by name. I don't want to risk getting in trouble! However, I've seen no policy against author notes, and it only makes sense to me that if people ask questions or make comments that I think should be responded to publicly (in terms of clarifying something for others as well) I will continue to do so. Beyond that, I will respond directly to comments and questions via reviewer's email addresses if you leave a signed review. And for all of you, please know how much I value each and every comment. _

_One general response: When I've referred to the story as complete, I meant that it's finished in an original draft on my computer. The whole thing. I am revising it as I'm posting it, which is why I generally only get a chapter or so a week up, but the whole thing will eventually be posted. I couldn't bear to post this much and then drop it, as I want to know what you make of the end. LOL._


	22. Court Complexities

It was very late when Lisswyn crawled into the bed next to Brynwyn. Hilde had retired earlier, taking the little girl with her, but Lisswyn had stayed in the hall, enjoying spending time with the boys, Brecka, and the others, as well as getting to know Ceolwyn and some of the other women of Edoras better. And the King's sister had sat with them for quite a while as well.

For most of the evening, her mood had been happy and content and she'd known it had as much to do with the earlier encounter with the King as with anything. Even while enjoying the conversations around her, she'd watched him as he'd moved from person to person, group to group, listening, reassuring and encouraging. She had liked the fact that he had spent quite a bit of time in particular with the families of his riders who had died in the initial orc attack. It was just another confirmation of what she already knew, that he was a good man and a compassionate king.

Adding to her pleasure, she would occasionally find his gaze resting on her, a look in his eyes that thrilled her.

But gradually, contentment and pleasure, and even that thrill, had been replaced with disquiet. Things between them had been fairly simple in the caves. Despite his identity, it had been so easy to talk to him, to spend time with him. To look beyond the king to the man. And even on the journey to Edoras, it had seemed just as natural to be with him, to let the feelings come, and grow. But always, she'd known that things would have to change once they reached Edoras.

He cared for her. Remembering the way he'd sought her out, held her the night she grieved for Maegwen, or the times they'd ridden together enroute to Edoras, she could not question that she mattered to him. And he was attracted to her. His kisses left no doubt about that.

But he'd never spoken of his feelings, nor of a future between the two of them.

Because he knew such a future didn't exist.

Honor was as much a part of him as were his bone and muscle. He would never degrade her, would never seek a dishonorable relationship with her.

But even an honorable man could long for things he could never have.

Prior to their arrival at Edoras, their spending time together probably hadn't been completely wise, but there'd been no one to note it, to remark on it. His men were loyal, and the women from the caves would never speak of it. But now that they were in the city, people would see. Would talk.

She couldn't bear the idea of their relationship being seen as something shameful. It meant too much to her, he meant too much to her, to allow that.

Somehow, she had to find the courage to tell him that, to convince him of that, the next time they met.

Shifting, she rolled over, buried her face in the pillow. And wept.

* * *

Eomer was still in a good mood when he retired to his chambers much later in the evening. A few stolen moments with Lisswyn, a kiss, time spent with friends…it had been a nice evening. He'd kept his distance from Lisswyn once they'd returned to the hall, not wanting to single her out in any way. But more than once he'd spied her laughing and talking with her friends, or sitting with the boys. And he'd also noticed Eowyn chatting with her for a while. That was good, too.

A sharp rap at his door interrupted his thoughts. "Come."

He had barely spoken the word when his sister threw open the door and stormed into his rooms. "Have you lost your mind?" Her eyes narrowed in anger, she stalked toward him. "What were you thinking? Are you trying to destroy what you claim is your best chance of happiness?"

"What are you talking about?" Baffled by the attack after such an enjoyable evening, he looked at her in confusion.

She stared back, shook her head slowly. "You really don't get it, do you? Men." She said the last word more as more of a curse than anything else, then paced past him before turning back to glare at him. "Everyone in the room tonight saw you sneak off with Lisswyn."

"We didn't sneak off!"

"What would you call it? She leaves, you leave, she returns – looking rather well-kissed, I might add – then you return, looking quite pleased with yourself." She stalked around in a circle before looking back at him again. "And then you complete the exercise by staring at each other all night. Eomer, you're going to destroy her!"

"I didn't stare at her! And I doubt anyone but you even noticed!" Frustrated, the words came out more loudly than he'd intended.

Her expression turned pitying. "Excuse me. Have you noticed that you're the King? People notice everything you do. And yes, people noticed tonight, both when you left and returned, and where your eyes strayed most of the evening. You might as well be wearing a sign," she finished with disgust.

He groaned, pulled out a chair and sat down. "You're making it worse than it is. We were only gone for a few moments – I wanted to check on her after my remarks about her friend."

"Eomer, you don't have the luxury of behaving the way you used to, or the way the other men do when interested in a woman." Her voice was not without compassion now. "Everyone in Edoras now knows you're interested in her, but because you're not free to make your intentions known, they'll assume the worst. That you're just playing with Lisswyn. Using her. And you know what court gossip is like. It will be impossible for her."

"I'm not using her!" He came to his feet, his fists clenched.

"I know that. But the rest of Edoras only sees that you're hiding something."

"I can't bring it out in the open until after I've talked to Imrahil. And I can't do that until the situation with the orcs is resolved." His voice was bitter.

"I know."

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Don't single her out. Don't follow her when she leaves the room. And for pity's sake, find something else to stare at!"

His cheeks heated with embarrassment. "I didn't stare at her all the night. You make me sound like a callow love-sick youth," he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. "If the boot fits…"

"That's not funny."

"You're right. I'm sorry." After a moment, she continued, "For what it's worth, I see what you mean about her. She's a delightful woman, and I will be honored to call her my sister. And I will do what I can to convince Faramir of that. But you must tread carefully until you can bring your relationship out in the open."

"I intended to. But I was worried about her when she left the room. I really did not think anyone would notice that I followed her. And I deliberately did not return with her."

"As I said, you're the king. People notice what you do." Her voice was quiet. "And it would help if she hadn't obviously just been kissed."

His face went a shade darker. "I did not intend for that to happen."

"There's a reason for chaperones."

"You're enjoying some part of this, aren't you?"

"Retaliation for how difficult you made it for me and Faramir to have any private time together? Oh, yes, I am." At his snort, she added, "But I'm fully aware of the differences – at least people know he and I are betrothed."

Eomer groaned. "You really think I've damaged her reputation?"

"I will do what I can. My spending time with her will help. But think about it, Eomer. Our people are curious, and when they see you paying attention to her but not declaring yourself in any way, they'll assume it's because you don't intend for it to be an honorable relationship."

"Maybe I should declare myself, and risk the anger of Dol Amroth," he muttered.

"You could do that. But is that the way you want to start your marriage?"

"You know it's not. And I don't want to put you in an awkward position between me and Faramir, either."

"You've already done that, but I won't mind if it means your happiness."

He walked over to her, touched her cheek. "Thank you for that."

"But you must be more careful."

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. "I will no doubt be very busy the next few days. That will help."

She nodded, touched his arm as she started back to her own room. "Take some rest, and leave Lisswyn to me."

"Thank you." He caught her smile in response as she closed the door between their chambers.

Brooding, his good humor gone, he stared into the fire and reconsidered what he'd said to Eowyn. Should he tell Lisswyn why he was delaying? But to what purpose? If he told her he loved her, but didn't ask her to be his wife, she might begin to think he meant to engage in a dishonorable relationship with her.

And if he told her about Lothiriel?

One of the reasons he loved her was that she had such a strong sense of duty to the Riddermark. He'd seen that the night she had begged him to go with the women to the top of cliffs, to hide from the orcs while she and the others faced the battle alone, merely to prevent the Mark from being without a king.

She might well decide that marriage to a princess of Gondor was better for the Riddermark, no matter how she felt about him. And wouldn't that be a fine thing? To have the woman he loved insist that duty required him to marry someone else?

What, then, if he went ahead, proposed and then – assuming she said yes – announced their betrothal immediately, while hoping he could still get to Imrahil and Faramir before they heard about it from someone else?

It was a tempting thought, and he tried to imagine the responses of the two men were he to do such a thing. Just how bad could the results be?

It would depend on how the two of them viewed that first conversation, he decided. If they saw it as a very preliminary discussion – the way he did – they might be annoyed and mildly insulted on behalf of the Princess, but would probably let it go. But if either or both of them had viewed that initial conversation as more binding, particularly if discussion about the possibility of a formal betrothal was already making the rounds in Gondor, the results would be disastrous. Lothiriel would be humiliated – something he would never wish to have any part in – and her father and cousin would view him as utterly without honor. Justifiably so.

Such a situation would almost inevitably cause tension between Gondor and the Riddermark, something they could ill afford. Aragorn would support him. He was sure of that – but what kind of problems would that cause the other man, to have the Princes of Dol Amroth and Ithilien angry with Eomer? And for that matter, was it possible, despite Eowyn's confidence, for Faramir to be angry enough for his feelings to spill over onto his relationship with his sister?

He rubbed his forehead. Faramir had told Eowyn of the conversation, had led her to believe a formal betrothal was imminent. That meant he, at least, must view that initial conversation as binding, although it was possible Eowyn had misunderstood.

Regardless, he would not risk it. It would be much better, cleaner, to wait to speak to Lisswyn until he had spoken to Imrahil and Faramir, and was completely free.

Wearily, he stripped off his clothes and flung himself onto his bed. He wanted to believe Eowyn was over-reacting, but knew his sister well enough to know it was unlikely. She was always more aware than he was of what was going on socially at Meduseld. He could only hope Lisswyn developed the same skill.

_In the way of some dreams, he knew he was dreaming. She was standing next to his bed, and on her face was a smile that broadened once she knew she had his attention. The look in her eyes was a knowing one, telling him they'd played this game many times before, that she already belonged to him in every possible way. Then she reached up, slipped her dress off her shoulders. _

_Though his mouth went dry with longing, he couldn't look away from her eyes, eyes full of love and warmth._

_She moved to where he stood, and tugged on his tunic. "You're wearing too many clothes." There was laughter in her voice._

_His vision blurred as she undressed him, her hands everywhere, touching, teasing. Delighted, he returned the touches, then tumbled her onto the bed, began to love her in earnest. Their pleasure increased, his heartbeat a hard rap inside his chest – _

_And suddenly there was a crash, and the world erupted around them. _

_He had locked the door. He had. He knew he had. But it flew open with a crash, and the dark figure of a man stormed in, followed by others. Some had candles, and the room was suddenly bright as day._

_He froze, too shocked to move for a long, frantic moment. His mind was desperately trying to catch up, to transition from the pursuit of intense pleasure in Lisswyn's arms to the threat now surrounding them. _

_She whimpered, squirmed against him. But it was no longer in pleasure, but distress. He rolled off her, automatically placed his arms around her protectively. _

"_Rohan! What's the meaning of this?" Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, was livid._

"_I'll tell you what it is." Faramir snarled. "He has rejected Lothiriel, and gone back on his word."_

_As shock gave way, he realized that Lisswyn was trying to hide in him, trying to crawl away from the men, from her nakedness. He did his best to shelter her, looked up to defend himself. _

_And realized to his horror that the room was now completely full of people. Lothiriel was standing behind her father, Aragorn was over against the wall, Eowyn was behind Faramir, Elfhelm was next to Imrahil…it seemed as if half his guard was in the room, not to mention most of his household. Frantically, he scrabbled around on the bed for something to cover them with._

_But it was too late. _

_Imrahil reached over and roughly grabbed Lisswyn, pulled her from his arms, hauled her to her feet. "I'll tell you what it is," repeating Faramir's words, he answered his own question, shaking her. "He chose to join himself with this –" words failed him, and he settled for shaking her again. Lisswyn's face was devastated. She gave Eomer a wild, desperate, terrified glance as she attempted to use her one free arm to cover herself._

"_NO!" _

NO! He sat up, shaking, looked around. His room. His _empty_ room. No Lisswyn, no angry crowd. A dream. Nightmare. Whatever. That's all it was. Heart still pounding, he looked around, tried to get his breath back. The first part had actually been a very nice dream, he thought, shaking himself again. But then…he shuddered, his stomach twisting with nausea. The second part had seemed all too realistic, at least at the time.

He wiped the sweat from his face and stood on trembling legs. He pulled on his robe, then moved to the sitting room, poured a mug of water. Drank deep. He was still shaking. A dream. It had all just been a dream.

But he could still see Lisswyn's face as Imrahil pulled her up. The fact that he could not imagine the Prince of Dol Amroth doing such a thing, no matter how angry he was at Eomer, was beside the point. The man's innate chivalry aside, Eomer hadn't been able to protect her.

Uneasily, he remembered Eowyn's comments earlier about the damage he might already have done to Lisswyn's reputation and shuddered. His sister was right. He would take no more chances, could not bear the idea of Lisswyn being hurt in such a manner, even if it was only gossip, and not the humiliation he'd just dreamed.

He finished the water and dressed. There was no point in pretending he would sleep again, he might as well get some work done.

In his study, he started to pull out some of the paperwork he'd been avoiding, then instead, pulled a leather-bound volume from a shelf behind him, began flipping through it. It contained a list of all the members of various eoreds – at least those known to Meduseld, as the exact number and membership of some rural eoreds could be somewhat flexible – as well as details on the members of his household.

Perhaps he would find something, some hint or clue to who was working against him.

* * *

"I've been over every name, every family, every list. Of the people we have records of, I can not find any who would gain from my death." Eomer looked at Aragorn and Elfhelm, rubbed his eyes, weary.

"But as you said, there are many in Edoras you don't know, that you have no record of," Aragorn commented.

"What else would you have me do?" Eomer's voice was sharp with exhaustion and frustration. His sleepless night was catching up with him.

"Riders – both Eorlingas and a few from Gondor – left early this morning to search for any signs of the orcs," Elfhelm said. "Once they're back, perhaps we'll have a better idea of what's going on."

Eomer looked at him, nodded, then turned back to Aragorn. "Have you seen anything new in the seeing stone since coming north?" He heard the desperation in his voice, and grimaced. "Do we even have any idea how many escaped from the battle in front of the caves?

Aragorn shook his head. "No. But beyond those who escaped that battle, I believe there are others, from both Mordor and Moria, along with a few Uruks mixed in."

"But why are they coming here? To what purpose do they attack the Mark?"

For a long moment, there was no reply. Then Aragorn said quietly, "Rohan was instrumental in the defense of Minas Tirith, and even now, guards Gondor's borders to the north."

Understanding set in. "You think they mean to destroy us in order to better attack you?"

"I believe they know that we must both be destroyed in order for all threat to them and their ways to be removed, and have decided to focus on you first. Gondor is weaker without your friendship, Eomer, and that of your riders."

"That wouldn't be the case if you'd work faster to build up your cavalry as I keep suggesting," Eomer replied absent-mindedly. It made a certain amount of sense. Except… "But my death would not guarantee the destruction of the Mark. My sister would be a quite capable ruler."

"But your death would weaken Rohan, and make it easier to attack."

Eomer nodded slowly, then looked at Elfhelm, a troubled look on his face. "Have there been any reports of attacks on the herds?"

"No. At least no more than usual."

The horses were yet safe, then. That was one small relief.

"Send word to set extra guard over the herds. If the goal is to weaken the Riddermark, the horses will be targeted at some point."

* * *

Something was wrong. Lisswyn had not wanted to admit it earlier, but it was becoming harder to do so. She and the other women from the caves had spent the last two days in Meduseld's gardens, weeding. Other women from Edoras were there, as well, but were working in other areas, so there hadn't been much opportunity for conversation with them. But that evening, she'd sat down by a group of the women who were taking their evening meal in the hall, only to have them one by one get up and leave, mostly without speaking to her.

She'd thought nothing of it, as that was the way meals happened in the hall – people came and went as time allowed.

But then something similar had happened the next day as well. She'd come into the hall with Hilde and Brynwyn, and settled at a table where some of the other women from the caves were sitting with women from Edoras…only to watch the latter group all get up and leave, one and two at a time.

She wasn't paranoid or overly sensitive. But something was wrong. Moments ago, when she'd sat down at a table for the noon meal, there'd been several other women there. Now she was alone. And at least one of them had not been done with her meal, either. Alfild had gotten up and moved to another table, to sit by herself, rather than eat with Lisswyn.

Hurt wanted to come, but it had to fight its way through layers of bafflement. What could she possibly have done to have so alienated the women of Edoras? How had she managed to offend them – apparently _all_ of them – in such a short period of time?

She finally pushed the food away, no longer hungry, and stood. She would go see how the boys were faring at the stables. The King had never made good on his promise to introduce her to the stable master, but surely the man wouldn't mind if she just stopped by to greet the boys. She would not keep them from their tasks. But she missed them. She missed their mother. She turned her thoughts away from that direction, and started toward the front of the hall, conscious that Alfild was watching her go.

As she reached the doors, they were suddenly flung open by the door-wardens, and she looked up to see the tall form of the King coming toward her. Just the sight of him eased her depression a little. She hadn't seen him since the night of the celebration, when he'd kissed her. She knew he was busy, could only imagine all the tasks he had in front of him, and she also knew they shouldn't spend time together. But it was still good to see him, and she felt her face crease in a smile as she watched him walk toward her.

…which faded as he walked by her without speaking. Without smiling. Without acknowledging her in any way, his eyes as distant as if they'd never met. She froze for a long moment, then turned, watched him walk away from her. Too stunned even to begin to process it, she simply stood there, only gradually becoming aware that Alfild was watching her, a gleam in her eyes.

Lisswyn turned, walked out of the hall, down the steps, momentum keeping her going. She paused outside the door to the stables, still bewildered by what had just happened.

She hadn't expected him to stop, not when his days must hold more to do than one man could easily manage, especially now. But not to acknowledge her in any way? To act as if he had never seen her before?

The stable doors were open, but no one seemed to be around. Taking their own noon meal, perhaps, though they'd not been in the hall. She slipped inside, wandered down the center aisle. Many of the stalls were empty, the horses no doubt out with their riders. But a noise caught her attention, and turning, she spied Firefoot looking at her over the gate of the end stall, a particularly fine one. Appropriate for the king's mount, she mused, as she wandered over to him.

The horse whuffed at her, then leaned out and nuzzled her cheek. She stroked him, felt her heart ease a little. It was probably a bad thing that the man's horse remembered her when the man himself was acting as if he didn't. She sighed, looked around, wishing she had a treat of some sort to offer.

Leaning against the gate, she looked at him. "I don't understand what just happened," she murmured. Firefoot nuzzled her again, and she gave a weak laugh. First the women of the court, and now the king himself. What had happened? What had she done?

Nothing. Things had been fine the day of the celebration, when the women had shared their clothing with them. And they had been fine that night. The women had been kind and welcoming, and the king had kissed her. Somehow, something had changed since then, but she could think of nothing she'd done to cause it.

Gradually, the shock wore off and the hurt set in. She would cope, one way or the other, with the women's response to her. Presumably, soon she and the other refugees would be relocated out of Meduseld and into cottages. Perhaps that would help. At least she wouldn't have to eat in the hall every day. And she still had the women from the caves. Their friendship mattered more to her than that of the women of Edoras, anyway.

But the King…was this what she'd been expecting would come? Had been warning herself about all along? Maybe. He wasn't angry with her – she was too familiar with his anger to allow that as a possibility. She grimaced, remembering. If she'd done something, he would have told her. Loudly. But this cold rebuff…

If this was what the future held, it was much worse than she'd imagined. It was one thing for him gradually to realize that she had no real place in his life, to be too busy to talk to her. That would have hurt, but she could have borne it. But for him to act as if he'd never laid eyes on her before…that had cut deep.

And the worst of it was that she could make no sense of it. Was he afraid she would have tried to detain him if he had spoken to her? Even just nodded his head to her? Or maybe he really just hadn't seen her. Maybe he had so much on his mind that he hadn't realized she was right in front of him?

No. Whatever else he was, he wasn't blind. It had been a deliberate snub. And even if there were some other reason for it, it was still a good reminder that she had no business thinking foolish thoughts about him. He was the king. She was a refugee. That was it. Best accept that now, before it led to more pain.

She straightened with a sigh and moved away from Firefoot's stall. A refugee, that was all she was. There was weeding, and in few weeks, the harvest. And hopefully, after that, there would be wool to spin, dresses to make. That was her life now, and one she would be grateful for.


	23. Progress

Her mood still grim and depressed, Lisswyn had returned to the hall and was preparing to go back to the gardens when Betta suddenly appeared before her.

"Come with me." The housekeeper's tone was brisk, but not rude, and Lisswyn silently did as she was bid, deciding not to question the woman.

Betta led her to a door near the entrance to the kitchen, and down the stairs behind it. It had never occurred to Lisswyn that there was a lower level of Meduseld, though of course it made sense for there to be such. It was surprisingly well lit, with candles in sconces every few feet that Betta stopped to light. The walls were of stone, hewn from the rock that the hall sat upon. They passed rooms that were obviously cellars and storerooms for the kitchen, storerooms of other kinds, and large empty spaces that seemed to have no designated purpose, before the housekeeper finally slowed in front of a closed wooden door. Opening it, she stepped inside, motioned Lisswyn to follow her.

Lisswyn did, and stifled a cry of delight. It was the weaving room, and was easily the size of several of the other storage rooms combined, with a spinning wheel, a loom, and along one wall, bolts of cloth and wool waiting to be spun. Positioned below one of the sleeping chambers on the main floor, the room had a fireplace in addition to more lamps and candles.

"The Lady asked me to bring you down here. She says you're a weaver?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "She said to tell you that you can make whatever you want, particularly for the women of Edoras who shared their clothing with you, but also noted that winter is coming, and heavier cloth for cloaks would not go amiss."

Lisswyn turned to her. There was a guarded, cautious look in Betta's eyes, a look she couldn't interpret. "Of course." She hesitated. "Forgive me for asking this – I still don't quite understand how things work. But surely this should wait until after harvest?"

Oddly enough, the look cleared somewhat from Betta's eyes, replaced with satisfaction, and respect. "She said you'd say that. You're correct, and you'll still spend part of your time in the gardens. But with the rest of your people helping out there, as well, there's no need for you to be there all the time, and there is a need – or will be, soon – for winter clothes. There are two other weavers in Edoras who trade with Meduseld, but the weaver directly attached to the hall left in the summer, to return to the village of her youth."

Lisswyn nodded, quietly pleased to know there was a need for her weaving skills in Edoras, but completely confused by the other woman's demeanor.

"Ealdred says you and your people have helped make enough headway with the gardens that you can spend the afternoon here, if you like."

"Oh, I would like that, very much," Lisswyn answered, reaching out to touch the loom, then smiling at Betta. "I just need to check on my sister. She was with Hilde this morning, but I don't want them wondering where I am."

Due to her age, Hilde found it difficult to bend and kneel in the garden, and had, with Liffild, helped by watching the younger children from the caves. The two of them were also continuing to hem and make other modifications to the clothes the women had been given.

Betta nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then. Ealdred will let you know how often you need to be in the gardens, and when we actually begin the harvest, that might be more, but until then, feel free to work here whenever you're not needed elsewhere."

She left, and Lisswyn wandered around the room, pleased with what she saw. There was a variety of different weights of wool, both already spun and awaiting weaving, and in the raw state awaiting spinning, along with similar amounts of cotton and a few bolts of Gondorian silk. The latter didn't look as if it had been there long. Had it been sent from Gondor to make Lady Eowyn's wedding gown? She'd have to ask. In the meantime, she settled with some of the spun wool in front of the loom, glad to have something to occupy her mind. She didn't want to think.

It was easy to lose track of time in the windowless room, and it was only when she heard steps approaching that she realized the afternoon had probably passed, and Hilde was coming to tell her the evening meal was being served. Perhaps she would tell the other woman to go on without her. It was easier to face an empty stomach than another meal watching the women leave when she arrived.

But it wasn't Hilde who came through the door. It was the King's sister, and she paused in front of Lisswyn, her hands on her hips. "This isn't the answer, you know."

"To what?" Lisswyn looked around, baffled.

"Hiding in here. Come." She motioned to the door.

It was a command, but one Lisswyn badly wanted to ignore. She stared at the loom for a long moment, tried to find a sufficient excuse to refuse. Tried to figure out what it meant that Eowyn apparently knew what was going on.

"If you hide, they'll assume it's because you've done something you're ashamed of." Eowyn's voice was quiet.

"I've done nothing!"

"Then come to the evening meal with me."

Lisswyn stared at her, confused. There was something in the other woman's eyes, something Lisswyn didn't understand. As if she was pleading.

Lisswyn nodded, reluctantly pushed away from the loom. She'd rather face orcs.

As they headed out, Eowyn turned to her. "I'm sorry I have not been much in the hall. I was needed elsewhere. Harvest, winter preparations, an epidemic of the childhood sickness." She gave Lisswyn a wry look. "I'm sure some of those children had it last year; I can't imagine why they're getting it again."

Lisswyn nodded, even more puzzled. Why was the King's sister apologizing to her for being busy?

It was immediately clear that meals in the hall were a different matter when Eowyn was with her. No one dared be rude to the King's sister. It was almost humorous, watching them try to interact with Eowyn while ignoring Lisswyn.

_If you hide, they will assume it's because you've done something you're ashamed of. _ Eowyn had had a point. Lisswyn's annoyance crept back. She'd done nothing wrong. She would not be cowed. At least not by the women of Edoras. She determinedly began asking questions and responding to comments. It was easier due to Eowyn, who was apparently equally determined to have Lisswyn be part of the conversation.

The King was not in the hall, and Lisswyn wondered where he was. But after his earlier snub, it was probably just as well. She wasn't up to another encounter with him.

The conversation was mostly about the childhood sickness currently making the rounds among the children of Edoras. Marked by a fever, lethargy, and upset stomachs, the illness was rarely fatal, normally running its course in a few days. But both children and parents were miserable until it was over, and for families with several children sick at the same time, it could be overwhelming.

As they were finishing their meal, Lisswyn turned to Eowyn, noticing for the first time that the other woman looked exhausted. "Is there anything I can do?"

Eowyn stared at her thoughtfully. "Eomer mentioned you have some training as a healer?"

Lisswyn grimaced. "Not exactly. My mother was a healer, and I learned a certain amount from her before she died – though not nearly enough."

Eowyn nodded. "Still…" She stood. "Come with me." She led Lisswyn out of Meduseld to one of the larger cots near the hall. As they stepped through the door, it was immediately apparent it was dedicated to the healing arts. A fireplace took up most of one wall of the large main room, and two tables were full of herbs in various stages of drying and cutting. Shelves were filled with pots and small bags, and the room smelled, not unpleasantly, of healing herbs. Doors led off the main room to other chambers.

A man and a woman were at the table, and they looked up when Eowyn led Lisswyn inside.

The man scowled. "We can not work any faster than this. It takes time to prepare the herbs."

A little surprised at the tone he was taking with Eowyn, Lisswyn glanced over at the king's sister.

Eowyn merely shook her head. "I've brought you someone who can help with that, I think."

His scowl deepened, but the woman looked intrigued. "You're Lisswyn."

Before she could reply, the man's head jerked up and he stared at her. "The woman who cared for the King?"

Lisswyn nodded rather cautiously. "I'm not a healer," she said apologetically. "But I did learn some things from my mother, who was."

"You know how to prepare dried feverweed?"

When she nodded, he pointed to a bench across from him. "Sit."

She glanced at Eowyn, then did as the man commanded.

"Lisswyn," Eowyn said, humor apparent in her voice, "this polite man is Redwald, the most senior of our healers. What he lacks in civility, he makes up for with skill. And this," she motioned to the woman, "is his wife, Mylla, one of our midwives."

"You examined Liffild," Lisswyn smiled at her, even as she reached for a knife and one of the plants.

"I did. She's a brave woman."

Pleased by the comment, Lisswyn turned to the task at hand, grateful that she was detecting none of the animosity she'd experienced from the other women. And once Eowyn had left, it became clear that Mylla's acceptance of her was genuine, not due to the presence of the king's sister.

As she prepared the medicinal plant – no doubt needed in large amounts for the sick children – she listened to Redwald and Mylla, and realized that the healer's gruff exterior was all show. He plainly cared deeply for his patients. He showed her how to mix the cut plant with some other herbs to make a potion weak enough to be safe for children.

His distress at being caught with an insufficient amount of prepared feverweed was obvious. "It's been years since this many children were sick at once, and most of our feverweed was mixed at adult strength to care for battle wounds."

The plant was effective in treating fevers, but worked best when mixed with other herbs as well. She'd had none while treating the king and was relieved that there seemed to be more than enough in Edoras.

Evening was far gone when Redwald stood and stretched. "That's enough for tonight. There's no point working until we go blind. We'll get some of this to Ceolwyn, and then begin again in the morning." He looked at Lisswyn. "You know more than you let on." A smile played around the corner of his mouth. "I've heard you're a weaver, but perhaps we'll make a healer of you instead."

Lisswyn smiled at him. "I will go wherever I'm needed." She picked up a small bag of prepared feverweed. "You mentioned Ceolwyn. Her children are ill?"

Mylla nodded. "The two youngest have been quite ill. The little girl had it last year."

"Perhaps I could take the feverweed to her? I'd like to see her." Ceolwyn hadn't been among the women who had been rude to her – the other woman hadn't been in the hall at all since the night of the celebration.

Redwald nodded thoughtfully. "She'll probably appreciate a bit of company." He walked over to the door, and pointed down the hill. "She's in the fourth cottage down, just before the road curves."

Lisswyn acknowledged his directions and then slipped out into the evening. Although he could be quite brusque, she liked the healer and his wife, and it had been good to spend several hours with people who seemed to like her, as well.

It was only when she arrived at the cottage he'd pointed to that nerves came to life. Ceolwyn probably hadn't been in the hall due to her children being ill, but that didn't mean she wouldn't demonstrate the same rudeness the other women had. She sincerely hoped not. She'd very much liked the other woman. Telling herself that bringing medicine might help, regardless, she firmly knocked.

There was no answer, and puzzled, she knocked again. After another long moment, the door slowly opened, and looking down, she saw Ceolwyn's daughter, an expression of anxiety on her face.

Before she could ask for Ceolwyn, the little girl said, "Mama's sick."

"I see," Lisswyn responded. "Maybe I can help. May I come in?"

Obviously relieved, the girl opened the door, and Lisswyn stepped through. The cottage was typical in design, with one large main room and one room off to the side. There was a fireplace along one wall, but the fire appeared to have gone out. The table in front of it had bread and cheese sitting on it – both evidently having been sliced by childish hands that weren't used to handling knives. At the other end of the room, near the lone door, were two small beds. The toddler was asleep in one of them, a rather restless sleep by the look of it.

"Where is your mother?"

The little girl pointed toward the closed door, and Lisswyn went over to it and knocked softly. When there was no answer, she eased it open, looked in. Ceolwyn was also sleeping restlessly, apparently too deeply to hear the baby fussing in a crib by the bed. Stepping closer, Lisswyn reached down, gently touched Ceolwyn's face, unsurprised to find it hot.

It was unusual, but not unheard of, for adults to get the childhood sickness. When it did occur in adults, it tended to be in those who'd had the disease lightly as children. Unfortunately, the older you were, the more dangerous it could be.

To her relief, Ceolwyn shifted restlessly and opened her eyes when Lisswyn touched her. Her eyes filling with confusion when she saw Lisswyn, she looked around, noted her daughter, then seemed to hear the infant. She struggled to sit up, but Lisswyn pushed her gently back down.

"Everything is fine. How long have you been ill?"

"This morning." The words were weak and slurred, and Lisswyn frowned, then watched as Ceolwyn seemed to struggle to get the next word out. "Denulf?"

"My brother." The little girl spoke, then nodded in the direction of the crib.

Lisswyn went over, picked the child up. He had a slight fever, perhaps, but seemed mostly cranky. "How long has he been ill?"

"Since yesterday," Ceolwyn whispered.

Understanding that the woman wanted to check her child herself, Lisswyn settled on the bed, laid the baby next to his mother.

Ceolwyn stroked his cheek. "He's not so warm."

"No. None of them appear to be as ill as you are."

Ceolwyn weakly nodded her head. "I should nurse him," she murmured.

She was right, and it made more sense to do it now than later, Lisswyn decided. She shifted Ceolwyn into a more comfortable position, the helped her settle the baby at her breast.

"Will you be alright? At Ceolwyn's weary nod, Lisswyn stood. "I'm going to check your other son, then go see the healers about some healing herbs for you – some that haven't been reduced down for children. But I'll be back before you're finished nursing." Ceolwyn nodded again, and Lisswyn returned to the main room.

The toddler was still sleeping restlessly as well, and was hotter to the touch than was his younger brother. Lisswyn mixed some of the herb into a cup of water, then sat next to the little boy, dribbling a tiny amount into his mouth. He coughed and sat up, and obediently took a drink when she held it to his lips before pushing it away, grimacing. Given the foul taste of the preparation, she was surprised he'd taken any of it. Normally, it had to be mixed with honey before children would swallow it.

In another move indicating how poorly he felt, he pulled away, rolled over and seemed to be trying to return to sleep. Lisswyn stood, deciding it was a good thing. And the next time he awoke, she'd get more of the herb in him.

In the meantime, she looked over at the silent girl who stood watching her, a look of fear in her eyes.

"How are you?"

"I had the sickness last year."

Ah. Poor thing must have been nearly frantic at having all of them sick but her. "Where is your father?"

At that, her chin came up, a look of pride settling on her face. "He's on a mission for the King. Mama says that Eomer-king trusts papa and he would not let him down."

"I'm sure he won't." Lisswyn smiled at her, then stood, and watched fear come back onto the little girl's eyes.

"And what is your name?"

"Jocosa."

"Jocosa, you've done a fine job of taking care of your mother and brothers. I'm going to leave you alone with them again, just for a little while, while I return to the healers and see about some stronger medicine for your mother."

"Is she going to die?" She asked the question bluntly, and Lisswyn ached at the fear behind the question.

"No," she answered firmly. "As I said, I'll go get some stronger medicine for her, and perhaps by tomorrow, she'll be feeling much more the thing." She reached out, touched Jocosa's cheek. "I'll be right back, and I won't leave again until your mother is up and around."

Obviously relieved, Jocosa managed a smile.

Returning to the healers' cot, she quickly told them of Ceolwyn's condition. Redwald scowled – a look Lisswyn now understood to indicate worry – and began measuring adult dosages of the dried feverweed. Mylla's distress was more obvious. "I knew I should have checked on them this afternoon. But she still had some of the herb, and others didn't."

"Can't be everywhere at once," Redwald said briskly. He turned to Lisswyn. "Mylla will take the herb to Ceolwyn and stay with them. You can return to the hall."

Taken aback by his shortness, she stared at him, then glanced at Mylla before looking back at Redwald. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take the herb to them. I promised Jocosa I'd return, and I hate to break my word. I know how to administer the herb, and wouldn't mind staying with them tonight, if someone could get word to Hilde in the hall so she doesn't fret."

Redwald gave her a shrewd look. "How are the children?"

"Jocosa seems fine. She remembers having it last year. The boys are both ill, the younger one a little warmer than the toddler, but neither of them seem as sick as their mother."

He gave his wife a brief look, and appeared to consider the situation for a moment, then nodded. "We're both quite tired, and tomorrow is likely to be much the same as today was. If you don't mind staying with them tonight, that would allow us to be more clear-headed for whatever comes next. We'll make sure you have a chance to sleep then." Lisswyn nodded, and he added, "If you become more concerned about Ceolwyn or the children, send Jocosa to fetch us."

Lisswyn nodded, and accepted the small bag of the herb he handed her before turning to slip back out into the evening.

The door to Ceolwyn's cottage opened before she even reached it, Jocosa expression once more anxious. Lisswyn smiled at her, and showed her the bag of dried herb. "I'll make some of this up for your mother right away, and shortly I think she'll begin to feel much better."

She did so, once more settling on the bed next to Ceolwyn. The woman had finished nursing and seemed only about half conscious, though her arm was still curled protectively around her son. Lisswyn took the little boy, held him while calling Ceolwyn's name.

"Lisswyn. I thought you'd gone," she whispered.

Lisswyn handed her the cup of potion. "Just to get some stronger feverweed for you. You must drink all of this."

"The children?"

"They'll be fine. I'm going to give them both suitable doses of the weakened herb, and will watch over them tonight. Hopefully, you'll sleep once you've had some of the herb, and will be feeling better when you awake."

Weak but determined, Ceolwyn sipped at the potion, and managed a half smile. "You put honey in it."

"It doesn't taste any better for us than it does the children."

Finishing the drink, she handed the cup back to Lisswyn before settling back onto the bed. "I had the fever has a child. I shouldn't be getting it again."

Her tone was a bit petulant, and Lisswyn smiled. "I can almost guarantee you'll never have to worry about having it again."

"Lisswyn…thank you."

There were tears in the woman's eyes, and Lisswyn shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad to help. I'm going to go start a fire and get some of the herb into the boys, and things will be better in the morning. But you must sleep."

Ceolwyn nodded as her eyes slowly closed.

The baby was fussing, so Lisswyn took him out to the main room with her. Jocosa, without being asked, dragged his crib out as well, and they set about getting another dose of the medicine into the boys. It wasn't easy, and Lisswyn relied heavily on the little girl, particularly when it came to the toddler. Unlike earlier, Hengest, as she'd learned his name was, would now only let Jocosa near him.

Fair enough, Lisswyn thought. When you were small, and felt miserable, having a stranger caring for you instead of your mother only added to the misery. So she carefully supervised Jocosa giving him the medicine and sitting with him until he fell back asleep.

Then she managed to get the little girl into bed, before finally settling with the fussing infant in a rocking chair near the fire.

The night passed slowly, but she succeeding in getting more medicine into all of her patients before dawn came and was pleased to tell Mylla that all three of them were resting easier by the time the healer arrived to check on them.

"The children seem to be nearly recovered, though I imagine they'll both sleep a lot today," she said. "But both of their fevers are completely gone, and Ceolwyn's seems much reduced."

Mylla checked them all, confirmed Lisswyn's assessment, then left again, promising to return as soon as she could to relieve her.

Content that everyone – including Jocosa, who'd been exhausted – was still sleeping, Lisswyn curled up in the rocking chair and took a nap herself.

It was late afternoon before Mylla was able to return, full of apologies. "I'm so sorry it's taken such a long time to get back to you. I think we've finally passed the worst of it, as there have been no new cases reported. But many of the children have really been quite sick, and their parents frantic."

Lisswyn nodded. "I'm not surprised. And I'm fine. I've actually been able to sleep quite a bit in the chair." Lady Eowyn had come that afternoon to check on them as well, asking if Lisswyn needed anything, and encouraging her to get what rest she could. It had surprised her to realize that that was how the King's sister had spent most of the last few days – going from one home to the next, encouraging parents and notifying the healers of any new illnesses.

"How's Ceolwyn?" Mylla asked as they moved through the cottage.

"Much improved, I'd say. Her fever is gone, and she's sleeping well. She awoke earlier and took some broth, and she's still been able to nurse Denulf."

"Good."

Ceolwyn was awake, and sitting up, slowly shifting to the side of the bed in preparation for standing.

Mylla looked at her, raised an eyebrow, and Ceolwyn grimaced. "As Lisswyn says, I'm much improved. Still a little weak, but I'd like to get up. I want to check on my sons." There was a plaintive note in her voice impossible to ignore, so Lisswyn and Mylla helped her into the other room and into the rocking chair. Hengest ran to her, and Lisswyn lifted the little boy into his mother's lap, where he settled against her with a sigh. Ceolwyn looked so content that Lisswyn suspected caring for the children, being with them and reassuring herself that they were fine, would be an important component of the woman's continued recovery.

She spent the rest of the evening with them, but by the time night fully fell, she was convinced they no longer needed her. She assisted Ceolwyn in getting them into bed, then told Jocosa that if anything happened – if her mother appeared to have a relapse – to run to the healers' cot for help.

Promising to return the following day to see if they needed anything, she slipped out of the cottage and started back up the hill to the hall, eager to see Brynwyn, and then head to her own bed.

By coincidence – Lisswyn refused to believe the woman really had nothing better to do than lurk in dark corners waiting to accost her – the first person she saw when she entered Meduseld was Alfild.

She stepped directly in front of Lisswyn, impeding her progress, and smirked, a malicious look in her eyes. "Decided to return to the hall, have you? It's a pity you couldn't make it back this morning in time to work in the fields, but I guess the riders didn't mind their entertainment extending to daylight hours."

Lisswyn simply stared at her, too tired even to take true insult from the ludicrous accusation. "You're in sad shape, Alfild, if you have nothing more useful to do with your time than watch my comings and goings. If you're truly curious as to where I was, though, I suggest you ask Lady Eowyn, as I will not dignify your comment with any further response." With that, she walked around the woman and went to get some sleep.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter turned out to be much longer than I'd anticipated, and I've wound up splitting it into two sections. The other part is done as well, meaning that the next chapter will be along quickly, probably within a day or two.__As always, thanks for your reviews. :)_  



	24. Trust

Two days later, Lisswyn stood in the hall with Brynwyn, baffled. It was mid-afternoon, and the hall was nearly empty. Although unusual for this time of day, it was not the lack of people in the hall that had her puzzled. It was the absence of Tille. Her understanding had been that it was possible to get something light to eat – bread, cheese, tea – at any time of the day, even when regular meals weren't being served. But Tille didn't seem to be around, and with the main door to the kitchen still locked, she didn't know how to acquire what Liffild had asked for.

She looked down into Brynwyn's equally confused eyes. Liffild was almost certainly going to birth her babe in the next day or two, and her appetite had been unpredictable. Having missed both the morning and the noon meal, she had suddenly decided she was hungry, and had asked for a small bite of something.

But in Tille's absence, Lisswyn didn't know how to provide it for her. Where was Betta? Surely the housekeeper would know where the young woman was, or would be willing to assist her?

Annoyance began to replace her confusion. It was ridiculous that they were in Meduseld, the very heart of the Riddermark, and a pregnant woman was going to go hungry because of an absent serving girl. Grimly, she marched toward the front of the hall, turned to the side of the King's dais. If this door was locked as well, she'd find the King himself. He might ignore her; he wouldn't ignore Liffild's needs.

The door was ajar, and she pushed on it, called out softly. There was no response, so she turned, looked down at Brynwyn. "Stay here." If the cook was as temperamental as rumor had it, there was no point in increasing his agitation by taking a child into his domain.

"Hello?" she called again as she walked in. The kitchen appeared to be empty, which made sense. The man probably had to rest sometime. It no doubt took a great deal of energy to feed all of Meduseld and a substantial portion of Edoras while managing to intimidate apparently everyone. But she was glad for the vacancy. Perhaps she could slip in and out without a confrontation.

The kitchen was larger than she'd expected, but that made sense, given the amount of effort it must take to feed so many people. She looked around, spied what she was looking for across the room on a long counter – loaves of bread, one already cut, and several rounds of cheese.

She sliced some bread, had just finished adding several slices of cheese to it when she heard a noise. Turning, she started, backed up against the counter without thought. The man coming toward her was huge. Darker than most men she knew, he was also completely livid.

"What are you doing in here? No one comes in here. No one is allowed in here." He stalked closer to her, grabbed her arm, shook her. "No one."

Lisswyn stiffened her back, tried to yank free, her earlier annoyance coming back, replacing the start he'd given her. "I was seeking a light meal for—"

"I don't care what you were doing. No one comes in here!" he shouted, shoved her again.

Hearing another noise, they both glanced over, and she saw others coming into the kitchen. Betta, Tille – it figured that the young woman would show up now – several others of the staff.

He looked down at the bread and cheese, and his hand tightened on her arm, no doubt leaving bruises. "You're a thief!"

Furious and embarrassed, Lisswyn jerked again. "No! I told you – I wanted—"

He shook her until her teeth rattled. "I don't care what your excuse is. No one comes in here," he snarled. "I'm going to—"

"Going to what, Hunlaf?" The King's voice cut through the threat, and Lisswyn suppressed a groan. He came toward them, his voice deceptively calm, a calmness belied by the temper flashing in his eyes. Behind him, Lisswyn saw Eowyn, the marshal Elfhelm, King Elessar, Ealdred, and several others she didn't know. She sighed silently at having caused an interruption to what had no doubt been an important meeting. Then she saw Brynwyn, peeking nervously around the door. That explained the presence of the King. He must have been just been in his study, just across the hall from the kitchen.

"Sire." The cook spit the word in tone that wasn't civil, let alone respectful. "I caught this woman—" he shook Lisswyn again, and she couldn't prevent a wince as his fingers tightened, "—stealing."

The insult registered, and her own anger came back. Finally jerking her arm free, Lisswyn glared at him, then turned to the King, frustration from the last several days erupting all at once. "I was not stealing! Liffild missed meals earlier today, and asked for something to eat. I called for Tille, and no one came."

Afraid she was going to say something else, something unforgivably rude, Lisswyn snapped her mouth closed, then turned, picked up the bread and cheese. "Excuse me, my Lord," she said through gritted teeth, before turning and leaving the kitchen, the glint in her eyes daring anyone to try to detain her.

Eowyn watched her go, cheered her silently. Lisswyn had backbone, and displaying it in front of Hunlaf was going to earn her the respect of the rest of the staff. She turned back, watched her brother move closer to the cook.

"You're not going to let her just walk out like that," Hunlaf snapped.

Betta inhaled at the tone the man was taking, but for a long moment no one else made a sound, and Eowyn realized Eomer was trying mightily to keep his temper. It surprised her that he was even trying, given the way Hunlaf had been manhandling Lisswyn when they'd arrived in the kitchen.

Apparently the cook didn't realize how close to the edge he was hovering. "She was in my kitchen!" He was whining now.

"Whose kitchen?" Eomer's voice was quiet. Nearly pleasant. Eowyn saw Ealdred step back in spite of himself. A quiet tone could be more dangerous than when her brother shouted.

The cook lifted his chin. "Mine. I rule here, lord. Not you."

Someone gasped, but Eowyn didn't look away to see who it was.

His hands fisted at his sides, Eomer moved even closer. The cook might have been a large man, but Eomer still stood taller. "What? Would you repeat that, please?" He didn't give Hunlaf a chance to do so. "You don't rule anywhere. You may be the best cook in all the Riddermark, but I will not have guests in Meduseld, or even other members of this household, mistreated by you. You can be removed."

"Your uncle—"

It was a mistake.

Eomer slapped a hand down on the counter. "I am not my uncle," he said. "And I am sorry for that. And I," his eyes, hot with temper, roved around the room before returning to the cook. "am not Theodred. And I am even sorrier for that." His voice was very quiet, very even. He stepped closer to the cook, got in the man's face. Eowyn watched Hunlaf take a step back, self-preservation finally kicking in. "But I AM the King of the Mark. And I will not tolerate that kind of abuse in this household. Is that clear?" he ended on a roar.

Hunlaf didn't respond right away, and Eomer's expression grew more threatening, if such were possible. He grabbed the cook's tunic, shook him. Was it possible the fool still didn't fully understand his danger?

Hunlaf finally jerked his head in stiff acknowledgement.

Eomer released him, turned, and stalked out.

Elfhelm looked at Eowyn. "I believe your brother has finally claimed the throne."

Eomer, still furious, stormed through the hall. Remembering the way Hunlaf had shaken Lisswyn, he wished he'd followed his initial impulse and simply throttled the man. He paused outside the room where the women were staying, tried to calm himself. No point in scaring Liffild with his anger.

The door opened, and Hilde came out. She seemed startled to see him. "Sire?"

"I'm searching for Lisswyn, Hilde."

The other woman frowned. "She's not here. She sent Brynwyn back with bread and cheese for Liffild, but did not return herself. Brynwyn said she told her she was going for a walk. I gather something unfortunate happened?"

Eomer nodded before turning and heading toward the great doors of the hall. He was relieved to see Thedhelm serving as one of the door wardens. "Lisswyn?"

The younger man did not pretend to misunderstand. He nodded out, down the steps. "Headed away from the hall, sire. Possibly toward the gate and out of Edoras."

Eomer nodded, motioned to Thedhelm and two others standing guard with him. "Come with me." Elfhelm would fuss if he left the city without taking guards with him; the men could also serve as discreet chaperones when he found her.

He'd been trying to walk a fine line of not singling her out without being completely rude. Alas, on one occasion, he hadn't managed it, and watching the hurt come into her eyes as he'd walked by her had nearly undone him. But what was he supposed to do? As oblivious as he was to such things, even he knew that Alfild was the biggest gossip in the court, and she'd been sitting right there, watching them.

For the most part, he tried not to be wherever Lisswyn was, figuring his absence was easier to explain than was his being rude to her. But not seeing her was separate problem in terms of his own mood.

Lisswyn's fury carried her out of Meduseld and down the road through the city. Later, she'd be amused at the way both women and men moved out of her path.

What was wrong with these people? A pregnant woman dared ask for something to eat, and it caused a crisis requiring the attendance of both the King of the Mark and that of Gondor?

She reached the great gates of the city, a little surprised to see them open. But as she marched through them, she realized that King Elessar's men were camped just outside the walls. With so much coming and going, it probably made more sense to leave the gates open. And the army itself provided security that the open gates could not

She turned, started around the wall, away from the encampment. She needed to be alone, needed some time to work through her anger.

It was not all directed at that idiot cook. Thief, indeed. She growled in frustration.

Looking around, she realized that she was now among the mounds of the dead kings. Her pace slowed, and she sighed, leaned against the wall, looked out over the mounds.

Edoras was not as she'd imagined it. Neither was the King's hall. For the first time, she rather wistfully wished she were still back in the caves. It was nice having plenty of food, but if you had to fight for it, what was the point? She brought her hand up, raised her sleeve to stare at the bruises on her arm.

Hearing a noise, she looked up, saw the King and three of his guard coming toward her.

Pretending not to have seen them, she turned, started walking again. She wasn't up to an encounter with the King. She simply wasn't. She'd seen him only from a distance since the afternoon he had snubbed her and the hurt was still too sharp.

At least some of the women were starting to warm to her again, apparently due to her willingness to help Ceolwyn. She grimaced, wondered if this latest encounter with the cook would once again cause problems in that area.

She slowed and gave a quick glance behind her, but didn't see the King. That was good. Perhaps he had realized she wanted to be left alone, and had returned to Meduseld. Why that caused a twinge of disappointment, she didn't know. She had wanted to be left alone.

"Lisswyn." He stepped out from behind one of the burial mounds, and she jerked, startled.

"My lord." With a sigh, she gave up, turned, sat down next to the wall. It was rude, of course, for her to sit when he wasn't, and it violated all kinds of protocol. She didn't care. What was he going to do? Throw her in one of the dungeons? Banish her from Edoras? She should be so fortunate.

He sat down next to her, and for a moment, there was silence. She saw the guards a little distance away, and it confused her. Did they really think it was dangerous out here?

Finally, she grew tired of the silence. "If you've come to tell me off for violating the cook's sanctuary, sire, I would ask that you wait. I've had my fill of being bellowed at today."

"That's good. I've had my fill of yelling at people." There was humor in his tone, but she wasn't yet ready to look at him. "I think I just dismissed my cook."

At that, she did look up. "You didn't."

"I did." He sighed, and started to take her hand, but she pulled it away, tucked it close to her body, too confused to want to be touched. He was acting the way he always did with her, as if nothing had happened. And that nearly made the hurt worse.

He shifted away from her in response, cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for what just happened in the kitchen." He hesitated. "The cook before Hunlaf used to regularly – if accidentally – poison people. And because Hunlaf knew what he was doing, my uncle allowed him to get away with more and more. But there's no excuse for what he did to you today."

Something in his tone had her looking up again, and the weariness and discouragement she saw in his eyes caused her to forget everything except finding a way to reduce that look. "Sire…I think perhaps he's not quite stable." Her lips twitched.

"I think you're right," he said, and managed a grin. Then he turned more serious. "How is your arm? I saw how hard he was gripping you."

"It's fine." Uncomfortable, she pulled her arm to her body.

He pulled it back, this time refused to let her overrule him, and slid the sleeve up. Gently touching the bruises, he swore. "I should have killed him for this," he muttered. "I may still."

Startled, she glanced up, into grim eyes. Pulling her arm away, she pushed the sleeve down. "I'm fine, sire. I've had worse." She looked away, and silence fell again as she tried to figure out whether she dared ask him about what had happened that day in the hall, when he'd acted as if she wasn't there. No. There was no point. While she wasn't surprised he'd come to check on her, it changed nothing.

"Lisswyn…" His expression was now troubled. "There are things happening that I can't really explain to you. I know that's unfair, but I'm going to ask you to trust me. And shortly I hope to be able to make things clearer."

Baffled, she frowned at him. What was he talking about? The women in Edoras? His own behavior? The cook?

"Will you?"

"I'm sorry, sire. I really don't understand. Will I what?"

"Trust me."

It was hard to say yes when she had no idea what he was talking about. But of course she trusted him. He was the king. Aware that the hurt she'd been living with had eased, though nothing had really changed, she slowly nodded her head. Relief came into his eyes, and that, the knowledge that her trust mattered that much to him, eased her heart further.

He stood. "I don't like the idea of you out here by yourself. Will you come back with me? We'll stop at the stables and I'll introduce you to Breghelm. I know I've failed to keep that promise to you."

Lisswyn nodded, and he reached down, helped her up.

"I know how busy you've been, sire."

"Thank you for that. It's still no excuse." His voice was firm as they turned, started back around the wall.

* * *

_A/N: It's short, but another part should be along this weekend. I hope you all enjoy this one -- the scene in the kitchen is one my favorites in the entire story.  
_

_Phia commented on thinking the title of the last chapter was referring to Lisswyn and Eomer rather than Lisswyn's relationships in Edoras. My apologies for misleading you! I like to come up with good names (which give hints/summarize without giving too much away) when I can, but sometimes it's tricky.  
_

_Nienor asked about the name 'Jocosa.' I agree, it doesn't sound very Rohirric, but I did find it in the same list of Anglo-Saxon names I've used for most of the others. Part of the problem is that there are fewer feminine names than masculine ones; I'm also trying to find names that don't sound similar to another name already in use as well as ones I personally find appealing. With Ceolwyn's daughter, I was having trouble finding one that matched all those requirements, and since the name was was on the list, I decided that perhaps Ceolwyn and Eothain indulged in a bit of whimsy with their oldest child and went with an unusual name/one they liked the sound of, rather than a more traditional one. _


	25. A Renewed Threat

Eomer came awake suddenly. He had heard something, some noise from the hall, perhaps. The light from the window was still mostly from the moon, though with a lighter hint of grey suggesting morning was not far off.

He sat up, rubbed his face. A noise in the hall at this time of night meant something unusual had happened, which more than likely meant someone would shortly be knocking on his door. Ah, well. He would have been awake before long, anyway. Years of patrols had conditioned him to rising early, no matter his location.

Nonetheless, he didn't move immediately.

He'd been dreaming of Lisswyn again. Nothing erotic – probably a good thing if he was getting ready to be dragged into a crisis of some sort – he'd had his arms around her, though, had been looking down into her amused eyes. It wasn't a look he'd seen often.

It had been good to spend a little time with her at the stables. The boys had been excited to see her, to show off the horses they'd been working with, the new skills they had learned in just a matter of days. Breghelm had hung back at first, just watching, and Eomer had understood that the older man had been measuring Lisswyn. Evaluating her.

And eventually he'd come forward, welcoming her warmly to the stables, teasing the boys in front of her, insisting that she was to come to the stables whenever she desired, either to just check on the boys or to ride. He'd seen in her what Eomer did, and the older man's acceptance of her eased his heart.

Lisswyn had noticeably relaxed as well, had teased Breghelm in response, and Eomer had stepped back, had enjoyed watching her, watching all of them.

Later, Eowyn had told him that Lisswyn was winning friends among the women, too. After the way she had tended Ceolwyn, none of the wives of the members of the Royal Guard would hear any ill spoken of her. Wynne, Elfhelm's sister and well respected among the women, had yet to make up her mind about Lisswyn, Eowyn had added, but Wynne was nothing if not fair-minded. The whole conversation had encouraged him.

More sounds from the hall drifted toward him, and he threw back the covers. As much as he might like to linger in bed thinking of Lisswyn, there were other things to do. Surely some of the scouts would be returning soon, and he would have a better idea of what was happening with the orcs. Which in turn, might give him a clue as to when he could go to Dol Amroth. He had nearly abandoned the idea of waiting until he took his sister to Gondor. He didn't think he could wait that long to declare himself to Lisswyn.

The thought caused him to frown. It was disconcerting that the orcs were not his sole focus. A warrior couldn't afford to be distracted from the matter at hand, and he had never allowed himself to be so. With Aragorn's help, he would find the orcs and destroy their threat. He had no doubt of that, but the division in his concentration was unnerving.

He tried to imagine what it would be like if the situation with Lisswyn were resolved. If she were sleeping next to him, were waking now to wonder with him what was going on in the hall. Sighing at the thought of that kind of support, he stood.

As he did so, the expected knock came at the door to the sitting room. Grabbing his breeches, he pulled them on, went to open the door.

"Elfhelm." He turned, went back into the bedchamber to grab a shirt and his tunic. "I heard a disturbance in the hall." Pulling them on, he returned to the sitting room, looked at the other man expectantly.

"My apologies for waking you." Elfhelm had clearly also been rudely awakened, judging from the condition of his hair. "A young boy from the Eastfold has arrived. He looks as if he has been riding all night. Orcs are attacking the herds," he finished, his voice grim.

Eomer stiffened with fury. He'd been expecting it, but to have the threat to the horses confirmed enraged him. Pulling on his boots, he looked up. "Where is he?"

"In the hall."

"Send someone to wake the King of Gondor."

Elfhelm raised his eyebrow, and Eomer ruefully shook his head. The other man would have already done so, of course, anticipating that it would be Eomer's first request.

They walked out into the hall, and he saw a small group of people near one of the tables. Ealdred, Eowyn, Betta, and several members of his guard, including Eothain, were all standing in a circle around a young boy Eomer judged to have seen perhaps thirteen summers. It was hard to get a clear look at him, but from what Eomer could see, he looked exhausted.

As he and Elfhelm approached, Ealdred saw them and turned, bowing. The others followed, and the boy, who'd been sitting, struggled to stand – then promptly sprawled at Eomer's feet as his legs gave out.

With a sigh, Eomer leaned down, took his arm, hauled him up and back to the bench.

Obviously embarrassed, the boy immediately started to apologize. "I'm sorry, my lord—"

Eomer cut him off. "Don't." He looked up at Betta, started to speak.

She anticipated him. "Tille has gone for tea and a meal."

He nodded, wondered what that meal would entail. Hunlaf had indeed left Edoras the afternoon before, and Eomer was frankly grateful. There was already a more relaxed atmosphere in the hall, at least among the servants, and that translated itself to everyone else. But that might change in a hurry if there were no one capable to taking over the kitchen.

He turned his attention back to the boy, realized he was still trying to get back to his feet. Eomer settled on the bench next to him, hoped that would help him relax. "What is your name?"

"Penda, sire."

"Tell me what happened."

It was the right approach. The boy immediately lost his nervousness at being in the hall with the king as he focused on the crisis that had brought him to Edoras. "We've known for several days that orcs were following us – the horses have been skittish. Nervous."

Eomer nodded, encouraged him to continue.

"Three days ago, five of them attacked us, but we held them off." His voice strengthened, though the shadows below his eyes continued to give testament to his exhaustion. "A larger party returned night before last."

"How many?"

Penda looked down at his hands, apparently trying to count. "Perhaps fifty, maybe sixty?"

Eomer looked up, looked at Elfhelm and Eothain. Fifty or sixty still did not account for all the orcs they believed were out there, but it was a sizeable group.

He looked back at Penda, waited.

"Da split the herd, sent as many of them as he dared off in a different direction with the women and younger boys, sent me here." He looked up, his eyes wide, desperate. "When I left, he and the other men were fighting them off. I do not know how they fared."

Eomer looked up, saw Tille coming toward them with the promised tray. He could smell fresh bread, and a look at the young woman's face suggested that she, too, had been up all night. She sat the tray on the table, and he reached for it, slid it closer to Penda.

"Thank you, Tille." She bowed her head, then glanced at Betta for permission before hurrying back to the kitchen.

Eomer turned back to Penda, motioned to the food. "Eat your fill, and then Betta," he nodded to the housekeeper, "will show you to a bed."

Penda's head snapped up. "But sire," he protested. "The herds—"

Eomer laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I need to meet with my council, begin mustering my men. We will leave as soon as we can manage, but I need you to go with us as you best know the way. And you can't ride if you're too exhausted to stand." He firmed his voice. "You will eat, you will rest. And we'll wake you as soon as we're ready to leave."

The boy nodded slowly, understanding. "Thank you, sire."

There was a noise behind him, and Eomer looked up, saw that Aragorn had arrived while the boy was speaking. Standing, he motioned to his study, then turned to Betta. "We'll need another tray, Betta."

She nodded, headed toward the kitchen as Eomer led the way out of the hall.

Once in his study, he leaned on his desk, watched as the others followed him in.

Eomer looked at Aragorn. "Fifty or sixty."

The other man frowned. "It's possible, but I do not believe that is all of them, even if they've been fighting among themselves."

Eomer nodded, but before he could comment, Elfhelm spoke. "Two eoreds arrived late last night in response to the scouts you've sent out."

"They returned with you, I take it?" Eomer said to Eothain.

Eothain nodded. "Alric and Swedhelm from the west."

"That will help," He turned to Elfhelm. "Someone must remain here, to protect Edoras."

The other man stared at him, nodded slowly. "It is not my first choice."

"I know. But it will be best for Edoras if it is you. They know you." He held out his arm, Elfhelm clasped it.

"I'll go begin the muster."

Aragorn looked up. "I'll assist him, will prepare my own men."

Eomer nodded, watched all three of them leave before turning to Ealdred. "Check the kitchens, see what foodstuffs are available for us to take with us, to feed the men before we leave – particularly the eoreds that arrived overnight."

The other man nodded and left as well, and Eomer wondered again whether there would be anything at all to feed the riders before they rode out.

As if in answer, Betta appeared at the open door, another tray in her hands. She set it down on the table, and Eomer sniffed appreciatively at the scent of the fresh bread in addition to the usual breakfast fare of dried meat and cheese.

"Thank you, Betta. And please thank Tille for me."

The older woman nodded, obviously pleased by the courtesy, then left the room.

Eomer picked up a mug of tea, drank deep, looked at Eowyn.

"She stayed up all night, you know – Tille did. Baking," she said.

"So I gathered. At least we'll have fresh bread to offer the riders."

She nodded. "Betta is seeking a new cook, but in the meantime assures me that Tille will be able to do much to prevent us from going hungry." Her expression turned grim. "I want to go with you."

He met her eyes. "I know."

"You're not going to let me."

"I need you to stay here." He raised a hand, forestalled the first of her objections. "This isn't about your abilities. When have I ever doubted you?" He waited, watched her accept the truth of his words. Glancing around his study, he turned back to her. "We cannot both go, lest neither of us return and the Mark be left completely bereft. And I can not, will not, allow you to go in my place."

She turned, frustrated. "I know. But I hate once again being left here."

"So does Elfhelm," he pointed out. "There are many kinds of duties."

"I know," she repeated, and sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? For asking to go to battle? That is not my sister."

Eowyn came over to him, put her arms around him. Leaned against his chest, and gave a weak laugh. "Sorry for giving you one more thing to think about this morning."

He kissed the top of her head. "Spending time with you is never a chore." He tilted her face up. "I really do need you here."

Nodding, she stepped away. "I understand that. I just…"

He touched her cheek. "I know."

She smiled at him, nodded at the tray. "Eat. I'll go check on things in the kitchen."

He watched her go.

* * *

An unusual amount of noise in the hall awakened Lisswyn. Dressing quickly, she hurried out, but despite a great number of people in the hall, she saw no one she really knew.

Moving toward the kitchen – and wasn't it nice to see the main door standing open? – she saw Eowyn, Betta, and several of the other women wrapping loaves of bread, dried meat and cheese into bundles. On the other side of the room, Tille was directing two other younger women in the shaping of additional loaves of bread.

"What is happening? May I help?"

Eowyn looked up, nodded. Motioned her over. "Orcs are attacking the herds; the men are going after them. Bundle the bread with smaller blocks of cheese." She indicated Tille.

"Tille believes we can get another batch of bread made before the men are ready to leave. While it's rising, we'll start on flatbread. We don't know how long they'll be gone, but we want to send them out with as much as we can."

Lisswyn nodded, began bundling the loaves. The men were going to war? Against orcs? She had a sudden flash of memory – orcs coming toward her, swords slashing down. Maegwen. She swallowed, forced nausea down. The King. She wanted to ask for more details, wanted to ask how many they would be going up against. Could not. Her tongue was frozen, and she could only continue the rote movements of wrapping the food.

Eowyn moved back over to her, spoke quietly. "A young boy from the Eastfold arrived in the night. Fifty orcs or so attacked their herds. Eomer does not believe it is all of them, but they might lead them to the rest."

Lisswyn turned, looked at her. "It could be an ambush."

"Two eoreds arrived from the west last night. With the riders from Gondor, over two hundred men will ride out."

Lisswyn nodded, relaxed a little. Many of the orcs had died outside the caves. Surely two hundred riders would be more than well matched against whatever of them were left.

The hours passed quickly, and it was nearly mid-morning before the kings and their men were ready to depart. Lisswyn had wanted to watch them, but the front of Meduseld was full of the other women, riders who were staying and servants, and she had despaired of finding a spot when Eowyn suddenly appeared in front of her. Grabbing Lisswyn's arm, she pulled her out a side door, and around to the front.

Where there had been no room a moment before, the crowd suddenly moved back, gave them space. She saw Firefoot saddled and ready at the bottom of the steps out of the hall, along with several other horses, one which she recognized as the King of Gondor's.

The doors from the hall suddenly opened, and the King came through, followed by King Elessar, a young boy about Eoden's age, and several other men she didn't know.

They paused in front of her and Eowyn, and the King looked first at his sister, then at Lisswyn. He didn't speak, just gazed at her for a long moment, then turned, flicked another glance at Eowyn before heading down the stairs. Followed by the other men, he mounted, glanced back at them one final time before nudging Firefoot with his knees. With a loud cry, he led the men out.

The hall was quiet after the riders left. Too quiet. Gradually, those who'd watched the departure drifted away to their tasks. Lisswyn moved toward the stairs to the lower level and the loom, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Lisswyn?"

She turned, saw Eowyn behind her.

"I'm returning to the kitchen to assist Betta with an inventory. Would you care to help us?"

Lisswyn nodded, grateful for the distraction.

Once in the kitchen, it became clear that Betta and Eowyn were using Hunlaf's departure as an excuse to clean out and thoroughly inspect the kitchen and storerooms. Tille had been rather forcefully ordered out of the kitchen to get some sleep.

As they worked, more than once Eowyn asked her opinion about something, or involved her in discussions with Betta, and it was not until Lisswyn was in one of the storerooms, counting spices that she realized how odd it was that the King's sister had done so. But with Hunlaf gone, perhaps they intended to have her help out in the kitchens.

Pondering the mystery of it lead back to thoughts of the King, and she paused, remembering the look he'd given her right before he'd rode off. She'd seen that look in his eyes before, and it thrilled, confused and saddened her, in equal measures.

It had meant different things at different times, and this time she was very much afraid it had been goodbye. A memory came, of him slumped next to Firefoot, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and her stomach twisted.

But no. She would not think that way. He was a mighty warrior, had been in far worse battles than the one he was facing now.

He wasn't hers, would never be hers, but he would come back from this battle, victorious over the orcs.

She focused on that while as she continued the inventory.

* * *

_A/N: Another short chapter, but the next one should be along in a few days. I like to keep certain scenes together which occasionally forces me to choose between having a very long chapter and having two (or more) short ones. _

_And Phia asked why the scene in the kitchen is one of my favorites. I'm not sure. But I was particularly pleased with how Eomer's 'claiming the kingship' (as Elfhelm put it) came out. That's been one of the surprises in writing for me – I'd always assumed that writers must like everything they write equally well, and that's not the case. There are a number of scenes coming up in the story that I like a great deal (even well over a year after writing them.) I only hope you all like them as well. _


	26. Ride of a Rohirrim

Eoden brought his horse around, looked back at his brother. Andric was coming up behind him, a look of pleasure on his face. Much to their delight, Breghelm had allowed them to exercise some of the horses that had not been ridden off to war that morning.

Short of actually going with the King to battle, Eoden figured that being able to ride over the plains just outside the walls of Edoras was an ideal way of spending an afternoon.

It was a source of great pride to him that the stablemaster had so quickly promoted them from just mucking out stalls to actually working with the horses. He liked the older man a great deal, liked hearing his stories of the King's childhood, liked knowing that he was working for someone who was so obviously respected by the King.

The horse shifted beneath him, and Eoden made a soothing noise. "Peace, Fleetfoot," he murmured. That was another source of pleasure this afternoon – of all the horses in the royal stables, this one was his favorite. The horse knew what he was thinking half the time, he was sure of it.

Fleetfoot pawed impatiently and Eoden laughed. He certainly knew what was on the horse's mind – the beast wanted to run.

In just a moment, he would indulge him with a race back to Edoras against his brother. He turned, watched Andric. The younger boy had taken his mount to the top of a slight rise where he sat, looking north. There was something in his pose that alerted Eoden even before his brother turned, looked back at him with an alarmed expression on his face.

Nerves settled into his stomach like rocks as he nudged Fleetfoot up the small hill. His brother pointed, but Eoden's eyes had already focused on the direction Andric was gazing in. A dark spot, low on the horizon. It took a moment for his mind to register what he was seeing, to push past the denial. Orcs. Coming towards Edoras.

For a terrifying moment, he was disoriented, confused enough to fear that it was somehow the same orcs the King had gone after and that both the kings and all their hosts had already met with defeat.

But no. The kings had ridden off in a southeasterly direction.

It was hard to tell how many orcs there were from this distance, but it was clear that it was no coincidence they were coming toward them even as the King rode away in the opposite direction.

But the King had not left Edoras undefended – the marshal Elfhelm and his eored were guarding the city.

He turned to Andric. "Raise the alarm. The more prepared we are, the better."

Startled, Andric looked at him. "What of you?"

"I'm going after the King."

"You'll never catch them in time!"

"One rider can ride faster than many, and they'll be on the lookout for the orcs as well. I will only have to follow them."

Andric still looked doubtful, and Eoden, turning Fleetfoot around, grew impatient. "They must be told – as must Lord Elfhelm. Go!" Without waiting to see if his brother obeyed, he kicked the horse, and Fleetfoot jumped forward.

Eoden leaned over him, thought of Lisswyn, of Brynwyn. Of all the others left in Edoras. "Prove your name true, Fleetfoot! Fly!"

The horse obeyed.

* * *

Lisswyn was at one of the tables in the main hall, enjoying a light meal with Eowyn, Betta, Hilde and Brynwyn when Elfhelm strode up.

His face was tight, but she was not familiar enough with the marshal to identify the emotion behind his tension. A glance at Eowyn confirmed that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

He bowed to the King's sister, then glanced at the rest of them, his gaze lingering on Lisswyn for a moment before moving back to Eowyn.

"My lady," he said urgently and without preamble, "orcs have been spotted. They're marching on Edoras from the north." Hilde gasped, and he spared her a glance before continuing. "We estimate that they'll be here by mid-afternoon."

Lisswyn looked down, into her sister's frightened eyes. She put her arm around her, pulled her close. Turned back to Eowyn.

"The opposite direction from where the herds are being attacked," Eowyn's voice was grim.

Elfhelm nodded. "It is not a coincidence, though it's remarkably well-coordinated for orcs."

"How many of them are there?"

"Hard to tell until they're closer, but it looks as if they number around two hundred."

For a moment, Eowyn was silent, her eyes narrowed in anger. "They're expecting Edoras to be undefended. They do not know my brother if they think he would ride out with all the riders, leaving no one but women and children here."

He nodded, spoke thoughtfully. "If their numbers really are not much greater than two hundred, we should be able to hold them even with a lesser number of men. The city walls are strong."

Eowyn frowned in thought, nodded. But before she could speak, Elfhelm spoke again. "And we might have another advantage."

His gaze once again came to rest on Lisswyn. "The orcs were spotted by the two new stableboys. The oldest one – Eoden?" he looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded, swallowing against a sudden foreboding. "—Eoden immediately took the initiative to ride after the King on what Breghelm assures me is one of our fastest young horses."

His voice was dry, and it was clear he was torn between annoyance and admiration at Eoden's action. But Lisswyn's stomach simply twitched with fear.

He continued speaking. "We cannot trust that he will return with the King in time – with the head start that Eomer had, I see no way for the boy the catch up to them and for them to return before the orcs attack. But it increases our chances if we can only hold them off."

Eowyn gave Lisswyn a compassionate glance, then looked back at Elfhelm. "My brother thinks very highly of the boy. I do not think his confidence will be misplaced."

Then she stood. "If the orcs will be here that soon, we have much to do."

* * *

Eowyn had been correct. There was a lot to do. Virtually the entire population of Edoras was evacuated into the great hall, and the smallest children – those too young to fight – along with their mothers, were sent to underground rooms beneath the main floor.

To Lisswyn's relief, Brynwyn went with Hilde without argument this time. When Lisswyn had bent to hug her, the little girl had looked up at her with a calm expression on her face. "Eoden is a very fast rider. The King will come back."

To Brynwyn, it was just that simple, and Lisswyn could only wish she had half as much confidence. But she was too aware of the distances involved, of how far ahead of Eoden the King must have been, of the distance they'd have to come back. No matter how slowly the orcs were moving, they were far too close to trust the kings for rescue.

Lord Elfhelm was obviously hoping that his men could hold off the orcs until the King returned, and due to the sturdy walls around Edoras, it was possible that he was right. But if he were not, if the number of orcs proved too much for his men, Meduseld would be where they'd make their last stand.

She kept herself busy helping to organize the crowds in the main hall, but always she remained aware of the approaching orcs. The entire situation was too reminiscent of the battle in the caves, of that last day they had spent waiting, knowing it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

Taking a break, she went out to the front of the hall. Eowyn was standing there, staring out over the walls at the orcs. They were close now, marching, stamping. Just out of reach of the men's arrows. It looked to Lisswyn like there were more than two hundred of them.

She sensed Eowyn turning to look at her, but Lisswyn's eyes remained fixed on the orcs.

Battle. Orcs. Just the words caused her heart to pound unevenly as memories of the battle in the cave came back. When she had chosen to stay in the caves, she'd done what she believed she had to do. Had known there was no other choice. But she hadn't really understood what she was facing. Hadn't grasped what true battle was like, with the stink, the blood. The reality of being targeted by two orcs at once and knowing death was but a heartbeat away.

Now she did, and the thought of having to do it again, of once more watching orcs charging her, nearly paralyzed her with fear, and it was pride alone that kept her standing next to Eowyn instead of cowering somewhere in a corner of the cellar.

As before, she would do what she had to do. The only difference was that this time, she knew exactly how bad it could be.

And the King wouldn't be there. She hadn't realized at the time how much of her courage had come from his presence in the caves.

She took a breath, forced herself to look at the other woman. The King's sister turned to her, a frustrated expression on her face. "I want to be out there, with Elfhelm." Her tone turned wry. "But he has managed to convince me that he needs me here, should they not be able to hold the gate."

Lisswyn looked away, did not know how to respond. The desire to appear brave in front of Eowyn was strong, but her innate honesty wouldn't allow her to present herself as other than she was.

"How do you do it? How do they do it?" she finally wondered aloud.

"Do what?"

"It's hard enough finding the courage to fight your first battle." She turned again, looked fully at the other woman. "How do you find the strength to face another one, knowing what it's like?" She didn't give Eowyn a chance to respond. "I'm an able-bodied woman; if it comes to it, I will fight until the end. But the thought of doing so, of facing them again…" she faltered.

"…chills your blood. I know." There was compassion on Eowyn's face now. She went silent for a long moment, then said quietly, almost to herself, "perhaps it's easier for me because as bad as the orcs are, they're not him." She looked away, stared unseeing off towards the south. "The orcs can kill me, I never forget that." A shudder moved through her as she looked back at Lisswyn. "But as evil as they are, it's a more minor evil. A shadow." Her hands came up, rubbed her arms, as if trying to bring warmth back into them. "He was wholly evil."

Lisswyn slowly nodded. Perhaps once you'd faced the Witchking, other enemies might somehow seem less frightening, if no less deadly.

Eowyn spoke again. "Eomer told me of your courage in the caves, and also of how you faced the Dunlendings last spring. Do not doubt yourself just because you would rather not fight." Lisswyn's cheeks heated at the thought of the King speaking of her in such a fashion, but before she could find a response, his sister continued more slowly, "I no longer wish for battle for its own sake. But if there is to be a battle, I would rather be down there," she indicated toward the wall "facing it, than up here, waiting."

Lisswyn nodded again. "Waiting is hard." She looked again out to the plains beyond the wall, tried to look before the stamping, threatening orcs. Wished desperately to see the kings and their men charging up. But there was only grass.

* * *

Eomer was frustrated. They'd been riding for hours, and though they had seen evidence of orcs, they had not yet encountered any. At least none alive. And they'd found no sign of the endangered herds, either. Of course, the lack of dead horses and their keepers were a good thing. But it was difficult not knowing what was happening, or if the herds were somewhere nearby suffering attacks even as he and Aragorn wandered around looking for them.

Tracking took time, too. He was grateful for Aragorn and his rangers with their superior tracking skill, but was impatient with their speed, or lack thereof. He knew they couldn't risk missing evidence of which way the orcs and herds had gone, but the hours of riding without finding their quarry was trying his patience.

They'd just ridden down from a ridge when he heard someone shout from behind him. Glad for a diversion, he turned Firefoot, glanced up the line of riders behind him, now slowing in response to his checked movement.

From far back in the column, one of his men shouted, "A rider follows us, sire."

Aragorn rode up next to him, and they exchanged a glance as they nudged their horses back up the hill. A rider following them? Perhaps from the herds?

From the top of the hill, he looked north, back towards Edoras. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and when they did, he wanted desperately to deny what he was seeing. He knew the horse, had watched the lad working with him.

"Eoden." Riding too fast, dangerously so. He looked at Aragorn, saw the other man register his alarm before they both kicked their horses into a gallop, rode down to meet the boy.

It was clear even from a distance that Eoden had been riding hard, though Fleetfoot seemed barely winded.

Eomer dismounted as they rode up to him. Nodding to Thedhelm to take Fleetfoot and cool him down, he watched as the boy came off the horse with a stumble, then righted himself and started toward Eomer.

"Sire," his voice was high and a little frantic, "orcs are marching on Edoras from the north!"

The riders around them froze, stared at Eoden as the boy ran to him, tried to bow, stumbled again as he did so.

Eomer grabbed his arm, steadied him. "What? When?"

"Andric and I were out exercising the horses and spotted them mid-day."

"How many?"

Eoden shook his head. "I don't know. I couldn't tell." He looked around at the riders, "less than this number I think. But it seemed a large group."

Eomer frowned, looked over at Aragorn. Tried to understand what he was hearing. "The attacks on the herds were a diversion? Their real goal is Edoras?"

"Their real goal is weaken Rohan however possible. No doubt the herds are under attack. But how better to do the most damage than to call us away from the city?"

"Do they assume then, that the city is left without defenses?" He turned back to Eoden. "What did Lord Elfhelm think of the numbers?"

Eoden turned red, ducked his head. "I don't know, sire," he muttered. "I did not wait for permission, but just rode out. I sent Andric back to warn them." He looked up, obviously wondering if a reprimand was coming.

Eomer squeezed his shoulder in answer, then looked up at the sky. Late afternoon. The boy had been riding hard for most of the afternoon to catch up with them. He was grateful now that they'd been forced to go as slowly as they had earlier. They might yet make it back to Edoras before the situation became critical.

He glanced at Aragorn, and then turned to one of the riders. "Get Swedhelm for me. Hurry!"

"You think to have him continue on after the orcs which are attacking the herds?"

"Yes. His eored numbers nearly seventy men. Hopefully, it will be a sufficient number to deal with the ones here while the rest of us return to Edoras. It seems unlikely that there can be more in this area than what Penda originally reported, not if a good sized host is marching on Edoras."

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "Nothing we've seen or heard indicates their numbers were ever much greater than five hundred, and many of them have already died, either fighting amongst themselves or in the battle in front of the caves."

Eomer turned to find Penda watching him and wondered if the boy would understand why he was returning to Edoras.

"You thought the orcs going after the herds might be an ambush. I heard you say so." Penda said, then flushed. "Forgive me, sire," he muttered.

"The orcs are attacking the herds and must be stopped," Eomer replied, his voice firm. "But if a sizeable group is marching on Edoras, Swedhelm's eored should be sufficient to defend the herds. They are seasoned warriors." He gentled his tone. "Edoras must be protected, too, Penda."

The boy ducked his dead. "Yes, sire."

Eomer turned back to Eoden. The boy was steadier, was standing quietly next to him.

"You have ridden hard and far already," Eomer said. "Will you be able to ride back?"

Eoden's chin came up, and pride was in his tired eyes. "Yes, sire. And Fleetfoot will willingly carry me."

Eomer squeezed his shoulder again. "We will make it back in time, Eoden." He hoped. "Thanks to you."

The boy flushed again, then looked around as if impatient to be off. Eomer sympathized. Although he'd spoken confidently to Eoden, anxiety was riding on him. Elfhelm was …well, Elfhelm, and no one could protect Edoras better with only a single eored. But a hundred men could still be overmatched if Eoden had guessed the numbers right, at least if the orcs succeeded in breaching the gate.

He heard a noise, looked up to see Swedhelm riding toward him. Around him, his men were already preparing for the ride back, and the horses were catching their mood.

They were all eager to be off. Too many days had passed with the orcs taunting and threatening them in one way or another. It was good to be preparing to ride to battle.

"We will leave as soon as I apprise Swedhelm of the change in plans. And then we'll ride fast and hard, and finish the orcs for good." He gave them a feral grin at the thought of the surprise the orcs had coming.

* * *

_A/N: Another short chapter! The next one is longer, and I hope to have it up this weekend, or early next week at the latest. My life is very complicated at the moment, both by the holidays and a family medical situation. But since, as I've said, the story is entirely written, I'm hoping to be able to continue the editing and revision that needs to be done so as to keep to at least a one-chapter-a-week schedule, if not more. In the meantime, thanks again for your comments. They've been a great encouragement to me over the past few days. _  



	27. Battle for Edoras

The autumn sun was low in the sky when it became clear what the orcs were waiting for: nightfall. Darkness. Their stamping increased, and some of them could be seen pointing toward the sky as the light began to fade when the sun slipped behind the mountains.

Their vision would not be hindered by its going.

Lisswyn stepped out once more to join Eowyn at the front of the hall, her knife in her hand. They were still hoping there would be no need for those in the hall to fight, but the women were preparing as best they could. What few men remained in Edoras would stand with Elfhelm and his eored.

Eowyn looked down, saw the knife. "You will fight with that?"

Lisswyn stifled both embarrassment and irritation. "It has served its purpose," she said, unable to keep annoyance completely out of her tone. "I have nothing else, my lady." Her tone turned rueful as she added, "—and would not know how to use anything other than this, anyway."

"Forgive me," Eowyn said quickly. "I did not mean to offend you. Just the opposite, actually," she added. "My admiration for you grows, if that is what you fought with in the battle my brother described."

Embarrassment came back. "I do not consider that battle to have been a particular success. Nevertheless, this is what I have."

Eowyn did not respond immediately, then turned. "Come with me."

Confused, Lisswyn did as she was asked, realizing once they were inside the hall that the other woman was heading to her own chambers.

Motioning for Lisswyn to close the door behind her, Eowyn went to a chest, opened it and drew out an oblong item wrapped in oilskin. She unbound it, allowing Lisswyn to see an old leather scabbard, which Eowyn then handed to her.

"Draw it."

Placing the knife on a table, and with an uncertain look at Eowyn, Lisswyn obeyed.

The sword felt light in her hand, only a little heavier than her knife. It was longer than the hunting knife, but not all that much so. The reach did not feel unwieldy to her. A closer look showed it to have been well cared for.

She returned it to the scabbard, held it out to Eowyn. "It's lovely."

"I would very much like you to keep it, as a gift."

Lisswyn stared at her, dumbfounded. "My lady, I—"

"Please." Eowyn reached out, gently touched the scabbard. "It was my first sword, a training sword, really. But I think it will serve you well as a transition from the knife, as it weighs only a little more, and yet its length will be better for fighting."

"But—"

"Please," Eowyn repeated. "I think you do not yet see your courage in the caves the way others do. The fact that you were injured does not change the fact that you stayed willingly, faced orcs with only a knife. Such bravery needs a sword."

Her face flaming, Lisswyn once again pulled the sword, then resheathed it. Struggled for words. "I hope I will not need to use it," she finally said.

"As do I." Eowyn turned, walked over to a corner. When she came back, it was with a shield. "But if you need the sword, you will need this as well." Like the sword, it was also smaller than a normal shield, but would provide some cover.

Lisswyn accepted it, tested it. How had she come to this?

Not long after the sun finally sank behind the mountains, the agitation of the orcs increased. From a conversation she'd earlier overheard between Eowyn and Elfhelm, Lisswyn knew that the Marshal's eored was positioned along the walls with bows, and it was clear from the screeching that the orcs had spent quite some time stamping and jeering just outside the range of the weapons. Taunting them.

As the dusk deepened, their screams grew louder, as did the noise of their stamping feet, heavy in their armor.

And then they charged. From her position in front of the hall, it was hard to see anything other than the bobbing torches, but Lisswyn was heartened by the number of lights that just as quickly went out, falling as Eorlingas arrows felled the orcs that carried them.

She looked around her. The area in front of the great doors was crowded with women, all holding some kind of weapon, all silently focused on a battle they could barely see. Many of them had husbands and sons now fighting along the wall, fighting to protect the gates.

Others, like Ceolwyn, were wives of the men with the king. It had surprised Lisswyn to see the other woman there when she had small children.

She must have seen the question on Lisswyn's face. "Eothain trained me to fight last year. He wanted me to be able to offer at least some defense should we be attacked while he was away fighting in the south." She grimaced. "The irony now is that even if I die fighting on the steps of Meduseld, it will not necessarily mean the children are orphans."

The thought of the men's grief should they arrive back in time to save their children but not their wives made her eyes sting, and Lisswyn looked out once more in the direction the kings had ridden off in, hoping desperately to see some sign of their return.

But wishing wouldn't bring the men back. She shifted her gaze back to the women, standing grimly around her. Nearly all of them, including herself, were in leggings and mail. It was hard to say which felt stranger – the mail's soft clinking, or the lack of a skirt when she looked down at her legs. She had not worn hose without an overskirt in many years – not since before Brynwyn's birth, when she'd had more time to ride. But Eowyn had pointed out that fighting was much easier if skirts didn't hamper you, and Lisswyn had agreed with her.

She'd been surprised at the amount of mail and armor which had been stockpiled in a storeroom, much of it obviously intended for smaller frames – primarily boys just beginning their training, but for women also, should the need arise.

Her hand tightened on the sword. It felt a little awkward, but she thought she could use it. She just didn't want to. She again looked out over the plain, beyond the dark mass of orcs barely visible in the moonlight. There was still no sign of the king. Had the kings and their men all been defeated by the orcs attacking the herds? Would evil win after all? Even after the defeat of Sauron?

Brecka silently moved over to stand next to her, and Lisswyn saw that the younger woman's gaze was also fixed out on the plains, beyond the orcs, no doubt thinking the same things Lisswyn was thinking.

As the battle continued, she began to relax, began to have hope. Marshal Elfhelm's men had the upper hand, after all, as they fired arrows from behind the wall.

Then she heard a cry, the word they'd all been both expecting and dreading. Ladders. She turned, met Eowyn's eyes. It had been too much to hope for, that the orcs would not have come prepared to scale the wall. The entire attack was too well organized for that. But it increased the likelihood of the loss of many more of the men. And of she and the rest of the women having to fight.

Eowyn moved over to stand next to her. Her eyes focused downward, on the gate, she began softly speaking, though Lisswyn wasn't sure whether it to herself or Lisswyn.

"Elfhelm will split up his men, probably into three groups," she murmured. "One will continue defending the wall directly, one group will move this way, to provide a line of defense against the orcs who make it over the wall and would start up toward us, while another group will do the same with the gate – for once it is taken, the orcs will simply pour in."

"Even then," she continued softly, "we will still have a chance, if the men were able to kill enough of them from the walls to even the odds once the gate is lost."

She fell silent, and they once again resumed listening. Watching. Straining their eyes to see more clearly what was happening.

But they didn't need sight to know when the gate was breached. The roar of the orcs, the angry cries of the men, told them that the battle was not going well.

"My lady…should we not go down and help them?" Lisswyn blurted, unable to believe she was asking such a thing. "If the numbers are possibly that close, could not our presence down there make a difference to Elfhelm and his men?" She had no illusions about her skill with the sword, but if she could kill even one of the orcs before she herself was killed, that would still reduce the number of the enemy by one.

The King's sister was silent for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the bobbing torches down by the gate. "Aye. We could make a difference. But if we go, and if we too are taken, there will be no one to make a last stand to protect the children inside." She turned to Lisswyn, grimaced. "That was how Elfhelm convinced me to stay up here in the first place."

Lisswyn nodded, looked back down. Froze. "Eowyn," she said in a strangled voice, barely aware that she had called the other woman by her name rather than an honorific, "they are burning the city."

It was true. The buildings closest to the gate were on fire. It made it easier to see the progression of the battle as it swept up the hill, but she grieved for those who were even now losing their homes.

Eowyn swore softly in the direction of the orcs. It was a word Lisswyn had heard the king use more than once, and despite the grimness of the situation, it nearly made her smile in spite of herself. It also once again made her long for the sound of horns. Where were they? Did the kings even yet remain unaware of their need?

* * *

They rode hard and fast, and Eomer was grateful for the moonlight that made such a pace possible. That and the fact that both his men and their horses knew every league of this land as well as they did their own homes and stables.

More than once, he looked over at Eoden. The boy rode beside him, and despite his obvious exhaustion, had no trouble keeping up with the pace. Neither did Fleetfoot, and watching him, listening to him, Eomer knew it was due to the way Eoden handled the horse. His respect for the lad grew.

* * *

They were going to have to fight. Grimly, Lisswyn tightened her grip on the sword, forced back the fear. The battle was coming closer, was nearly to the outbuildings of Meduseld now. Much of the lower city was in flames, though it looked as if the orcs weren't torching every single building. No doubt they figured they could always go back once the hall was in ruins. Or maybe they figured it wouldn't matter once all the Eorlingas were dead. And the fires would spread on their own as well.

The worst part of it, or nearly so, was that the women waiting on the steps of the hall had no way of knowing just how many orcs were still alive, or how many they'd be facing. They could still hear the shouts of men rising up reassuringly over the squeals of the orcs, but based on the fact that the battle was still progressing, if slowly, up the hill meant it must be well matched between the men and orcs.

Of course, on a more positive note, that meant that Elfhelm's men must have killed a good number of them before they breached the wall.

She'd stopped looking out over the plains for the kings and their men. She could no longer afford the distraction of hope. Maybe the kings and their men would come. But it was looking more and more likely that if they did, it would be only to see the loss of the capital of the Riddermark.

The sounds of battle grew closer, and Lisswyn braced herself for the moment they would sweep around the curve in the road.

It happened with a whoosh as one, then another of the outbuildings caught fire, and then men and orcs, locked in fierce battle, came around the bend.

They circled around each other, but always the orcs were moving the battle upwards, keeping the men retreating.

"Here we go," Eowyn said grimly, not sounding completely displeased.

Lisswyn took a breath, once again forced back memories of the battle in the caves. The odds were better in this one. She tried to count, but with the movement and shadows, it was impossible. Suffice to say enough of the orcs still fought. She tightened her grip on the sword, swung it.

* * *

Eomer crested the top of a hill, and slowed, knowing that now he would get his first sight of Edoras, would be able to see for himself what they facing.

It took a moment for his mind to register what his eyes wanted to deny.

Shock moved through him. He had known it was a possibility, but seeing the city in flames stunned him.

Then the horror turned to fear as he thought of those inside – Eowyn, Lisswyn, the other women. The children. And for the orcs to have progressed as far as they had meant Elfhelm might already be dead.

Fury replaced the fear, settled cold in his stomach. He turned, shouted back, "They burn the city. Ride!" He heard the cry going back as the men roared in response.

He wished for the kinds of words Theoden had had to muster the men before the battle of the Pelennor, or that Aragorn had used before the black gate. But none would come, and he would spend no time trying to think of them. Such words would be necessary anyway. The sight of Edoras in flames would do more than he could to rouse them to battle. Raising his voice louder, he cried, "Forth Eorlingas!"

They charged.

* * *

The battle in the caves had been fairly straightforward, Lisswyn discovered. There had been limited space, and that had directed the battle somewhat.

Such was not the case now. There were men and orcs fighting all over the area directly in front of the hall, with the orcs occasionally trying to start up the steps, only to be pulled back down. The orcs were determined to make it up, the men equally determined that they wouldn't. At least the hand-to-hand battle between the men and the orcs was preventing the orcs from targeting the women on the steps with arrows.

Some smaller groups of the orcs were trying to get to the stables, but the men were holding a line, blocking it. The battle must not reach the horses. Even over the noise of the fighting, she could hear the sounds of agitated horses in their stalls. Trained for battle, they weren't happy at being locked up, but there was too little room to maneuver in the narrow streets of Edoras to use the horses effectively.

She and Eowyn, followed by some of the other women, had crept part way down the stairs, only to stop and then retreat – not due to fear, but rather an awareness that being higher up would provide an advantage when the orcs finally made it up the steps.

But it was hard, much harder than Lisswyn had expected, not to go down those steps and into the battle. If waiting was hard, waiting while watching was worse.

She saw Elfhelm move to the bottom of the steps, realized for the first time that he had obviously been injured. He was fighting without a shield, indeed his shield arm hung useless and bloody. It amazed her that he could fight as well as he did, when he must be in considerable pain.

In the light cast by the fire she saw more orcs pour into the courtyard. One of them seemed much bigger than the others, and she frowned, staring hard at the creature. Was it a trick of the light?

"An Uruk," muttered Eowyn.

Uruk-hai. Orcs were bad enough, and certainly deadly, but they weren't the most intelligent of creatures. Lisswyn grimaced. The only reason that Maegwen had been the lone casualty in the caves was because orcs weren't particularly good at battle strategy. But Uruk-hai were different. Canny creatures, they were deadlier than orcs, and their presence in the battle significantly reduced the chances of any of the Eorlingas surviving. But how many of them were there?

Several of the men turned, targeting the Uruk, which allowed three of the orcs to slip past the line the men had been maintaining in front of Meduseld and start up the steps. Lisswyn and Eowyn exchanged glances before starting down once more. This time, they didn't turn back.

Even knowing she couldn't afford the distraction, Lisswyn's thoughts turned to the king as she moved down the steps. Had Eoden even found them? Was he lost somewhere in the darkness? Or dead?

She gave a sharp shake of her head, focused on the orc coming toward her. She brought the sword down, partially severed its arm. The orc howled, transferred the sword to its other arm, and charged her. She brought the shield up, slashed down again. The orc's sword hit hers at an angle, deflected. Its injury was affecting its fighting ability, and Lisswyn used it to her advantage, managed to slice deep into his neck on her next thrust.

The orc fell, but there was no time to relish that fact – not when there were more of them behind him.

* * *

They were nearly to Edoras before Eomer looked over at Eoden and realized the boy had neither weapon nor armor. He frowned, unwilling to prevent Eoden from riding into the battle – not that he thought it would do much good to order him to stay behind, anyway – but uncertain how to protect him. Reaching behind him, he pulled out his spare sword.

He had never had to use it, could not imagine actually fighting with anything other than Guthwine. But a warrior was always prepared for the loss of his weapon.

Riding close to Eoden, he shouted the boy's name, then tossed him the sword. Eoden caught it, and despite their shared worry for those in the city, gave Eomer a delighted grin.

They rode on.

At the gates of Edoras, Eomer, with grim satisfaction, took in the number of dead orcs that had been felled by Elfhelm's archers before the gate was breached. That many less inside, then.

His mood changed back to simple fury once they were in the city and confronted with dead Eorlingas lying on the ground. The numbers weren't huge – it hadn't been a massacre – but he ached at the loss of more good men. Some, though injured, yet lived, and he could only hope they survived until after the battle, when the healers could tend them. Aragorn, with his healing skills, would make a difference there, too, but first they had to finish the battle.

He saw a larger figure on the ground, and grimaced. An Uruk. Aragorn had been right, then, about the possible involvement of the Uruk-hai. He looked up, exchanged a glance with the other man. At least it wasn't an entire army of the creatures.

It was growing harder to see due to the smoke, and the horses had to go more slowly or risk tripping. As they made their way up toward Meduseld, he was gratified to hear human voices raised in battle. Some still lived then -- they weren't arriving after all was lost. He turned his mind away from thoughts of Lisswyn and his sister, and focused on making it up the hill.

That Elfhelm's men had fought fiercely all the way up the hill was evident by the dead orcs littering the road. The Eorlingas he saw were mostly injured, not dead, and were in much fewer numbers. Testament that the men had been fighting on their own ground, had known how to make use of the buildings around them.

The leading edge of the riders, Eomer and Aragorn at the front, swept around the road's curve and into the courtyard of Meduseld with a roar. It was immediately apparent that it was no place for the horses – about seventy-five orcs and fifty or so of Elfhelm's men were fighting there, and the horses would find it too difficult to maneuver.

Startled screams from the orcs indicated that they hadn't heard the riders' horns over the noise of the battle and the fires, and Eomer knew they needed to take advantage of the orcs' confusion. His eyes still taking in the details of the scene before him, he dismounted, heard his men doing likewise behind him. Glancing over at Eoden, he said, "See if you can make your way to the stables, and assist with the defense there."

As the boy nodded and began to lead both Fleetfoot and Firefoot away, Eomer shouted to Alric, "Remain on your mounts, cover the road." There wasn't room in the stables for all the horses, and someone needed to prevent orcs from escaping back down the road.

The other man nodded, but Eomer had already spun back around, charged into battle. It was time to end the threat of the orcs for good.

He had already seen the women fighting on the steps, and now, even as he ruthlessly started dispatching orcs, he realized that both Eowyn and Lisswyn were among them. He was relieved to see Lisswyn in mail, recognized the sword she was using.

He didn't like the fact that any of the women were in the battle, but at least some of them, including Eowyn, had some real training. Lisswyn did not. He killed another orc, grimly acknowledge that he understood the necessity that had placed Lisswyn in battle. He respected her courage in not backing down from the challenge, and so far, it looked like the numbers of orcs that were making it to the stairs were manageable.

But in addition to the orcs, there was an Uruk who seemed determined to get to the stairs, and the men who were equally determined he wouldn't were paying a high price to prevent him from doing so. He saw Elfhelm, saw the man fighting despite an obvious injury. Furious at the sight of his injured friend, he renewed his attack.

The orcs were beginning to realize that he was present, and their grunts and squeals became louder as they left off targeting Elfhelm's men and turned to challenge him. They knew they were going to die – with the arrival of the riders, they were now hopelessly outnumbered. But as was normal with their kind, their new goal was simply to kill as many of the humans as possible before they were stopped. And they all wanted to be the one to kill one of the kings.

Let them try. Unlike Elfhelm and his men, he wasn't already battle-weary. The only drawback to it was that he could no longer keep an eye on the steps, on the women.

With a fierce yell, he lunged, killed three of the orcs near him. They too, were tired, and fighting poorly.

When he was next able to spare a moment to glance at the steps, he saw that the renewed push from the arrival of his men was forcing the orcs up, towards Meduseld. Despite many of them coming after him and Aragorn, more of them were now on the stairs. Elfhelm's men were still trying to hold them back, but were obviously having a hard time of it, and Elfhelm himself was fighting the Uruk. Eomer had to get to the stairs.

He worked his way to the outer edge of the battle, started toward Meduseld. Some of his men followed him. They took their responsibilities seriously, and were determined to stay close to him, fighting along side him. It annoyed him at the same time he was grateful for it, as it increased the speed with which he was able to move around to the stairs.

The next time he glanced over at the steps, he saw Aragorn dispatch the Uruk, but he could no longer see Elfhelm at all. Thoughts of his Marshal were replaced by horror as he saw that a group of orcs, several of which were focusing on Lisswyn, now separated Lisswyn and Eowyn. Frantic, he tried to see if any of the men were nearby, would be able to go to her aid, but could not get a clear view through the battle.

The attempt cost him. One of his men shouted at him, and he spun, just in time to duck an orc's blade. It missed his head, sliced into his upper arm. Thanks to the mail, it mostly bounced off, but a hard enough blow, particularly an angled one, could cause the individual rings to weaken and break, resulting in some of the blade getting through. And this had been intended as a killing blow.

It wasn't a bad injury – that was the point of the mail, after all – but it stung, and annoyed him. Furious on every possible level, he took out two more orcs, before looking up again. To his relief, he was getting close to the stairs.

Lisswyn seemed to be holding her own, with the assistance of some of the men. It looked as if a few of the riders had made it to the steps – men who weren't being targeted as he and Aragorn were.

And then he was there, fighting at the foot of the stairs. A glance around told him that the battle was reaching its conclusion. Though quite a few orcs remained on the ground, Aragorn and their men were quickly dispatching them.

He looked up, and saw that only Eowyn, Lisswyn and Brecka were really still engaged in battle on the stairs. Other women stood on the porch, obviously trying to figure out how to help those on the steps, but the lack of space and the position of the orcs made it difficult. He couldn't see where were the men who'd been on the steps earlier had gone.

The orcs were trying to drive the women up the stairs, where, trapped against the front of Meduseld, they would have less room to maneuver.

As he killed the two orcs still on the ground preventing him from reaching the bottom of the stairs, he saw the orcs above him shift into a new pattern. They were trying to increase the distance between the women, surrounding them, continuing to force them upwards. Unlike when the same thing had happened earlier, there were now more of the orcs to do so, and fear beat at him.

Even his sister would not be able to withstand five orcs focused on her at once, and Lisswyn didn't have a hope of surviving the four she was currently battling. And further up the stairs, three more were targeting Brecka.

He could not save them all.

He vaulted up the stairs, taking out the nearest orc – one of the ones attacking Eowyn – then glanced frantically around. Where were the rest of the men?

Aragorn was obviously trying to reach the stairs, but was still too far away to help. Eomer hesitated, knew he could not afford to do so. A split second could be fatal, yet he froze, torn between aiding the sister he'd spent his entire life trying to protect, the woman he loved and knew to be a less competent fighter, and the third woman who'd already lost so very much.

His eyes trying to be everywhere at once, he noted that Brecka had managed to kill one of the orcs targeting her, and was now dancing back from the others. Was she deliberately leading them up the stairs, away from Lisswyn, giving Lisswyn more room to maneuver? Regardless, Lisswyn was working her way up the stairs as well.

A glance toward his sister told him that she was playing with the ones who were still after her, taunting them, ducking their weapons, trying to get them to go after each other. It was entirely possible it would work. But four against one…

Lisswyn was trying to do the same thing, but it wasn't working as well. The orcs were circling her, turning the technique back on her. Two of them lunged at her, and she tried the same escape that had worked in the caves, ducking between them, going higher up the stairs.

Eomer yelled, and one of the orcs spotted him and leaped, snarling. Eomer beheaded him, and then saw that Brecka was now at the top, but was so far managing not to be trapped against the building. Ceolwyn was trying to assist her, but couldn't seem to get close enough to the orc to make a difference.

It was harder than he thought it would be to work his way up the stairs. He was trying to get to Lisswyn and Brecka while taking out as many of the orcs targeting Eowyn as possible, but there was so little room to fight, it seemed possible he would only succeed in driving the orcs closer to all the women.

As he stabbed out at the neck of another of the orcs, out of the corner of his vision, he saw Lisswyn duck, saw an orc raise his weapon, bring it down, but could not tell if it connected. Fear blanked his mind, and he beheaded the orc in front of him with enough force to send it flying completely out of his way, off the stairs. If that blow to Lisswyn's middle had connected… it had been forceful enough not to matter that she wore mail.

He gave a roar, leapt forward. Was unaware of making a decision to aid Lisswyn instead of his sister. Every thought except one fled his mind when he saw the orc's weapon start toward her: the memory of the battle in the caves, of seeing her struck, of nearly losing her.

The first two orcs were swept aside before he was even aware of swinging Guthwine, and all the while he kept Lisswyn in his peripheral vision. She seemed to be uninjured, was now battling the remaining orc with single-minded intensity, even as she continued to climb the stairs. But Eomer had believed her uninjured in the caves as well.

He spared a moment to glance behind him, noted Eowyn was down to one orc, and that Aragorn, Eothain, and Thedhelm were once more at the bottom of the stairs.

He turned again, saw that the orc and Lisswyn were now at the top. It stabbed out at her, and she danced backwards, was close to being trapped against the building. He darted up the last few stairs. It was time to end this. She was fighting well, but the orc could always get in a lucky blow.

Reaching them, he drew back his sword, but even as he swung it, he watched the orc stab out again, watched Lisswyn dance back once more, this time into the shadows near the great doors. Had the orc succeeded that time? Had she really danced back, or had she stumbled, bleeding from a wound?

Guthwine arced down…but it was unnecessary. He watched the orc stumble backwards, then fall, blood spurting from the gash in his neck.

Turning back to the shadows, he wiped his sword off, sheathed it as he covered the last few feet between them. She was barely visible in the darkness, but he could see a dazed expression on her face, and it alarmed him. Maybe it was just battle shock. But maybe it wasn't. He took off his helmet, dropped it next to them.

"Are you injured?" His voice was sharp. Once again, the memory of the aftermath of the battle in the caves came back – of believing her to have mostly escaped serious injury, of being wrong. So nearly fatally wrong.

He backed her against the wall of Meduseld, didn't care that he was rougher than he'd meant to be. He could still see the orc's blade coming toward her, and fear that even now she was bleeding, robbed him of rational thought.

He started with her shoulders, ran his hands lightly down the outside of her arms, then back of the inside, feeling for wetness. Blood. Or rough, broken places on the mail. He felt nothing but the armor.

Turning, his hands glided over her torso. She gave an embarrassed squeak of dismay when he brushed over her breasts, but he didn't care. There was nothing sensual about it, just a desperate need to know that she really was uninjured.

Nothing. No wetness, no rough patches on the mail.

She squeaked again when he ran his hands over her hips, tried to pull away from him. He growled at her, continued his inspection. Going all the way down her legs, he knew he was being completely irrational. It simply didn't matter. He reached her lower legs, started back up, going beneath her mail skirt, checking the back of her legs, before she finally found her voice.

"Sire!" she whispered urgently, once again trying to shift away from him. "I'm fine."

He stood, looked down at her, wished he could see her clearly. "You're fine." There was a disbelieving tone in his voice, relief that she'd really escaped the battle without injury having a hard time pushing through the memories.

"Better than you—" she started to speak, started to raise her hand to where his own injury stung and throbbed.

He didn't let her finish. Trapping her against the wall with his body, he crushed her mouth with his.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. Hours of worry culminating in a few minutes of heart-stopping terror on the steps had robbed him of self-control, and he knew nothing but a fierce need to touch her.

But she was responding, was kissing him back with equal passion. After a first stunned moment, she'd given herself completely over to the kiss, had brought her free hand up, anchored it in his hair.

As some of his desperation dissipated, he gentled the kiss, brought his own hands up, and stroked her hair.

Someone came up to them, and he felt another burst of impatience. Couldn't they leave him alone for just a few moments?

No. Of course not.

Eowyn cleared her throat, and he finally looked up, not completely able to suppress another growl of frustration.

His sister wasn't intimidated. Her voice soft, she said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but your men are starting to look for you. At the moment, you're in shadows, but…"

Lisswyn stiffened in his arms, and he reluctantly nodded at Eowyn, then dropped his arms, slowly stepped back.

Without looking at him, Lisswyn turned, slipped into the great hall.

He sighed, looked more fully at his sister. She was fine, but guilt once again pricked at him that in the heat of the battle it had not been she he'd thought of first. For nearly twenty-five years, her safety had been his primary concern.

"I'm sorry I did not aid you more." He hadn't meant to speak of it, hadn't meant to blurt the words out, and felt shame at the admission burn his cheeks.

Eowyn smiled a little, nodded that she understood. "I would not have been happy with you if you had done so over assisting women less trained for battle."

He wanted to protest, but knew it was pointless, knew she would never understand the complex mix of pride, terror, and sorrow her warrior abilities had always inspired in him.

Someone shouted, and he gave a quiet sigh. His men were indeed looking for him. It was time to go assess the damage, see what was left of Edoras.

* * *

Lisswyn slipped into the hall, then paused. Instead of going further in, she turned and moved quietly into the shadows, where she leaned against the wall and tried to get her bearings.

Before long, they would no doubt begin bringing the injured men into the hall, and she planned to offer her services to the healers. She might not be fully trained, but she could perhaps assist them.

First, she badly needed a few moments to herself. She was trembling, and it didn't have anything to do with the battle she'd just survived. Or at least not much.

She'd known the king cared for her. She just hadn't known what that meant, had been unable or unwilling to put a name to it.

But there were very few possible interpretations for what had just happened between them. She'd seen him upset before, had seen him angry. But it had been desperation and panic behind his response to her – both his examination of her and his relieved kiss when he'd finally been convinced she was fine.

He loved her.

She tested the thought, rolled it around in her mind. Shivered in response. The King of the Riddermark loved her. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she hugged herself as wonder crept in.

She still had no idea what it meant, could not imagine a future where they were together in some way. Wistfully, she allowed herself a moment of dreaming he had remained only a Marshal, that his cousin had not died. There might have been hope then. Though Marshals usually married women of noble birth, given the unexpected friendship developing between her and the King's sister, she thought Eowyn would have supported a marriage between them. Her heart gave a hard rap at the thought of being able to be with him permanently. Of belonging to him, and he to her. Of bearing his children.

But he wasn't Third Marshal. He was the king, and was not as free as other men in choosing a wife. There was a reason he'd never spoken of his feelings for her – he would probably marry as much for politics as anything else. That thought brought sadness, and she pushed it away.

He loved her. She was sure of that, and no matter what happened later, the knowledge thrilled her.

She would have loved him, regardless. Had given him her heart long ago. But to have such proof of his feelings for her…it steadied her. The losses of the past year, the battle she'd just survived…as hideous as they were, they faded a bit next to that knowledge of his love.

He loved her. She leaned back, allowed the simple wonder of it to roll through her, then shook it off. There was too much to do for her to delay any longer.

She went to find the healers.

* * *

_A/N: A long chapter, but I wanted to keep all of this together. Thanks for all your good wishes! My family medical situation has stabilized some, and we had a nice Christmas -- I hope those of you who celebrate the holiday had an equally nice time, and that this last week of 2005 brings all you wish for. :) I will hopefully be posting another chapter of the story this weekend, but in case I don't manage it -- happy new year!_  



	28. Aftermath

Mylla was grateful for her help, and immediately put Lisswyn to work cleaning wounds. King Elessar and the Gondorian healers who traveled with him had already tended some of the most gravely injured. Rumor had it that they had been trained by the King of Gondor himself.

But there were many more minor wounds.

She wondered if anyone was tending the King, wondered how Lord Elfhelm was. But there had been no time to ask anyone.

She had just finished wrapping the arm of one of the younger riders when the king's sister quietly stepped up to her.

"Can you be spared for a little while from here?" Eowyn's voice was soft. "Redwald is asking for your assistance."

Startled, Lisswyn looked up at her, then nodded. She hadn't seen Redwald amongst the injured, and had assumed he was somewhere with the King Elessar or the other healers. But what could he want of her?

She turned and followed Eowyn, and after a moment, realized they were heading toward the King's study. Uneasily, she wondered if perhaps the king had been more seriously injured than had appeared. But no, Eowyn had not looked unduly alarmed. In fact, it had almost seemed as if there was a hint of humor in her eyes.

They reached the door, and the other woman turned to her. The humor was now more pronounced. "Both Elfhelm and my brother were injured in the battle, and they're both being difficult. Elfhelm refuses to be treated until after Eomer, and Eomer insists Elfhelm has the greater injury and must be treated first. Redwald believes you're the solution."

Lisswyn stared at her, confused, but before she could ask for clarification Eowyn pushed open the door, led her inside.

The King was leaning against a large desk that stood in the middle of the room, while Lord Elfhelm sat at small table nearby. Redwald stood between them, and all three men wore scowls.

In unison, they looked up when she and Eowyn walked in. The King looked startled, the Marshal seemed to take it as an opportunity to slump back in his chair with exhaustion – the man was pale and obviously in poor condition – and the healer simply looked relieved.

"Good, you're here." Redwald pointed to her. "You," his finger turned to the King, "will tend him." His scowl returning, he addressed the King, "You," he emphasized with the finger, "will allow her to do so." He turned back to Elfhelm, and finished, "And you," once again the finger motioned for emphasis, "will now allow me to tend your wounds, secure in the knowledge that there is no one else whose hands the king would rather be in."

Eowyn choked back what sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Lisswyn felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She glanced quickly at the king to see his reaction, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was scowling at Redwald, who ignored him, turning instead to Elfhelm.

When the king finally did look at her, there was a glint of humor in his gaze. Cocking his head, he raised an eyebrow at her. "One of the more prevalent rumors in the Riddermark is that I actually rule here," he said dryly, nodding toward Redwald and Elfhelm.

She could not help but grin at him as she crossed the room, but the amusement faded when she got close enough to see his arm. He had removed his armor, was down to the mail shirt and whatever he wore beneath it.

He was holding his left arm close to his body, and now she could see why. A line of broken, bloody rings ran across his upper left arm where the orc's blade had struck and bounced off the mail. It had to hurt; no wonder he was trying to move the arm as little as possible.

She looked at him, knew he wouldn't appreciate sympathy.

Staring at the mail, she finally motioned to his right arm. "Let's see if I can ease your good arm out, then pull the mail over your head before freeing your injured arm. Perhaps that will result in less movement."

He nodded, and held out his right arm to her. Working the mail off, she tried not to bump the injured arm, but it was difficult – the mail was a tight fit against the muscles of his arm.

But it was finally free, and she was able to begin working it over his head. This was harder – it was more difficult not to bump the injured arm, and she heard him swearing softly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just finish," he growled.

His head was finally free, the mail bunched around his shoulder, and her eyes met his. "Can you straighten the arm?"

He grimaced in response, but did so, his increased pallor indicating his level of discomfort.

Lisswyn was as gentle as possible as she pulled the mail off the arm, but knew that she had hurt him, and grimaced in sympathy.

"That's better. Just having the mail off helps."

Glancing at the injured area, she could imagine that that was so. He was now wearing only a soft shirt – a shirt with a bloody and torn sleeve.

She removed it in the same way, and could not suppress a gasp when she saw his arm. A darkening bruise covered most of his upper arm – that would be painful in and of itself – and in the middle of it, a series of cuts and scratches left by the shattered rings. Some were minor, but some of the larger cuts plainly contained small pieces of the broken mail that would have to be dug out.

Her eyes met his again. He was looking at her steadily, and she remembered Redwald's comment about him preferring her hands to anyone else's. She looked back at his arm, saw the scar on his shoulder, still red and angry-looking, from the poisoned arrow.

She reached out, touched it gently, then looked back at him. "I'm going to have to hurt you again," she said softly.

"I know what has to be done." Taking her hand, he squeezed her fingers. "You'll do what is necessary – as you have done before," he added firmly.

Humbled by his trust, she nodded, then looked around. Next to him, on the desk, was a bowl of steaming water, some cloths, bandages, and salves.

Picking up a cloth, she began cleaning the injured area, trying to get a sense of how many bits of metal were embedded in him, and how deep. And knew from the tension in his body that even such light touches were painful to him.

When the majority of the blood was wiped away, she picked up the small knife that was lying next to the bowl. The handle was warm to the touch and the blade glowed from having been sterilized in the fire.

Starting with the uppermost cut, she spread it open with the fingers of her left hand, then gently probed the wound with the tip of the knife. Forcing herself to ignore the tension in his body and the knowledge that she was causing him pain, she persisted until the tiny bit of silver popped out.

Easing back, she glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on her.

Saying nothing, she started on the second cut. Not all of the gashes had pieces of metal in them, but she had to check them anyway. An infection caused by one being left in his arm wouldn't be good.

Finally, she looked up at him. His face was drawn and pale, and his right hand was clenched in a fist.

He forced a smile though, then lifted his left arm, which was trembling. "You know the advantage to having survived the numbing poison?" he murmured.

"What?"

"Ever after, with no matter what type of injury, you can say you've had something hurt worse, and be telling the truth."

His attempt at humor fell flat, as she couldn't come up with a response. He was right, though it didn't make the knowledge that she was currently causing him pain any easier.

At least the next step shouldn't hurt as much. Dipping one of the soft cloths in the hot water, she began gently to clean the cuts. As he relaxed in response to a lessening of his discomfort, she found herself distracted by his nearness, by the intimacy of their positions and what she was doing for him.

Caring for him now was very different from the first time, in the caves. His muscles were firm beneath her fingers, but now she knew just how strong he really was, had felt his power any number of times – most recently as he had pulled her to him after the battle. Even as she continued gently cleaning the cuts, her eyes darted to his chest. His bare chest.

She remembered wiping him down in the caves, when his fever had scared her, remembered wondering what it would be like to be held by him, kissed by him. And now she knew. And knowing, she found the sight of his broad chest, with the hard muscles and light sprinkling of hair, to be even more distracting.

"Lisswyn?" His voice was very soft, and full of humor.

Flustered, she realized she'd stopped cleaning his cuts, had simply been staring at his chest. She gave him a quick glance, and saw a teasing glint in his eyes – along with a tenderness that made it difficult to take her next breath.

Deeply embarrassed, she turned, rinsed the cloth out in the warm water, and without meeting his eyes, resumed cleaning the cuts.

Finally, they were as clean as she could get them with water and soap. She reached for the small pot of salve, then met his eyes.

"This will sting, but it helps to prevent infection."

He glanced down at it, grimaced at the pungent smell. "I'm familiar with it."

Scooping some of the paste up with her fingers, she began to spread it on and in the uppermost cut. After a moment, he tensed, turned his head from her, muttered a harsh word.

"Try to think about something else," she advised, "something pleasant. The burning will not last long." She moved on to the next cut, eager to finish.

She sensed him look at her and glanced up, saw his eyes darken as they met hers. Felt her cheeks heat again with the knowledge of what he was apparently thinking of.

In spite of her embarrassment, she could not completely suppress a smile as she went back to spreading the salve on his wounds.

But by the time she finished and looked up, he was once again rigid and swearing. The salve was effective at preventing infection but stung unbearably for the first few moments after it was applied.

"Are you done?" he asked in a harsh voice.

At her nod, his right hand shot out, and before she could react, he cupped her neck, pulled her toward him.

Startled, she lost her balance and fell, coming to rest on his chest with her hands between them.

"You told me to think of something pleasant," he said as his lips came down on hers.

For a brief moment, she worried about Redwald, Eowyn and Lord Elfhelm seeing them, then every thought fled except the one of how nice it was to be resting against him in such a fashion, with his skin warm and firm beneath her.

She was growing more used to his touch, to his kisses. Knew what to expect, knew what he expected back as a response, enjoyed accommodating him.

It wasn't a long kiss. He was smiling a little as he as slowly lifted his head, then pressed his lips to her forehead.

"You're right. The cuts aren't stinging at all now," he said in a mischievous voice.

She stifled her laughter and eased away from him, glancing over at the other occupants in the room. Eowyn and Redwald were busy with Elfhelm, and though she couldn't tell exactly what the healer was saying, she could hear the frustration in his voice.

"They didn't see anything," the King said softly. "Elfhelm is never a cooperative patient at the best of times, and tonight, has refused to let Aragorn tend him. He insists there are others with worse injuries. Redwald will overrule him if he thinks it's necessary, but in the meantime, they'll argue over every step of the treatment."

She smiled in response, then reached for the dry cloths she would use as bandages. "How does your arm feel now?"

He flexed it. "Better. The stinging is gone."

Nodding, she went to work with the bandages. "Keep the wounds dry if you can." She looked up, attempted to glare at him. "If they get wet, we'll need to clean them again and reapply the salve."

He gave her that mischievous grin again. "As long as you're the one to reapply it, so I can take my mind off the stinging…"

She choked back another laugh and resumed bandaging his arm. His lightheartedness surprised her. His willingness to smile and tease her must be a result of the victory over the orcs, and his relief that they no longer had to wonder from which direction the next attack was coming.

Finally satisfied that the bandage would not easily come undone, she looked up at him.

"You must let Redwald know if it appears to be becoming infected, or particularly sore."

He nodded, flexed it again. "It will be fine." Glancing at her, he smiled again, but it was clear his mind was starting to focus on other things – the burning buildings in Edoras, the shattered gates, the men who'd died.

She had other duties as well, should return to the main hall, as there were no doubt still men with minor wounds waiting for treatment. As she turned to gather up the cloths she'd used on him, though, she found herself reluctant to leave.

Despite the discomfort he'd been in at least part of the time, she'd enjoyed the interlude with him.

An idea came to her, and she looked up at him. Dare she? He was watching her, noted her hesitation. Raised an eyebrow.

Feeling bold and a little mischievous herself, she glanced over to the other side of the room. Redwald and Eowyn were still working on Lord Elfhelm. She could hear the Marshal swearing softly at whatever they were doing.

Clutching the soiled cloths in one hand, she looked back at the king. He was watching her, a hint of both amusement and puzzlement on his face.

Her heart pounding, Lisswyn leaned up, lightly brushed his lips with hers. Felt him go still. Was he pleased? She could only hope so. But after her earlier realization of how he felt about her, she had wanted to give something back to him – something more than just responding to his kisses.

As she pulled away from him, her boldness deserted her, and she ducked her head, suddenly shy. She might know how he felt about her, but their relationship was such a tenuous thing. An unknown thing.

He caught her hand, tugged her back to him. "Oh, no, you don't."

She thought perhaps he would kiss her again, but instead, he simply pulled her into his embrace, held her to him. She relaxed against him, enjoyed the warmth of his bare skin beneath her cheek, heard his heart beating strongly.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Thank you."

After a long moment, she eased away from him and he let her go, his finger touching her cheek as she did.

At the door, she turned and glanced back at him. He was still leaning against the desk, his eyes dark with emotion, pleasure on his face.

* * *

Eomer moved quietly through the great hall, noting with relief that the number of men still being tended was small – and that most of them seemed to have only minor wounds. He could see Lisswyn in the distance, apparently lecturing a young rider about the treatment of his injury. To Eomer's amusement, the lad was both scowling and nodding. The rider might resent the restrictions, but Eomer doubted he'd disobey.

She would make a good queen, and it reassured him that others were seeing that as well. He hadn't been particularly surprised by Redwald's calling her into his study to tend his arm – the healer, like Breghelm and Elfhelm, had known Eomer most of his life, and would see things others missed. But allowing Lisswyn to tend him had been more than an acknowledgement that he knew Eomer's heart – it had been a statement of confidence in Lisswyn's abilities.

He wondered if she understood that. Probably not, just as he doubted that she'd see her courage during the battle the way others would. But for the time being, it was enough that the inhabitants of Edoras were coming to see some of what he saw in her.

His good humor faded as soon as he stepped out of Meduseld. It was immediately clear that most of the fires had been put out, but smoke hung low over the city, a reminder of the homes that had been destroyed. And worse, far worse was the knowledge that buildings had not been all they lost.

Grimly, he started down the steps, intent on discovering just how bad things were.

He was nearly to the gate when he met Aragorn coming toward him. Discouraged by the damage he'd seen, the sight of Gondor's king caused a renewed surge of gratitude to move through him. As bad as things were, they'd be far worse if the other man had not come to their aid.

With his good arm, he clasped Aragorn's arm, found himself unable to speak around the emotion.

"How are you?" Aragorn nodded toward his injury.

Clearing his throat, he carefully stretched his left arm out, tested it, before looking up. "Fine. Mail scratches that have been tended. Nothing more."

"And Elfhelm?"

"He fared somewhat worse, but Redwald assures me he'll make a full recovery – if he doesn't strangle him first." He managed a wry grin. "Elfhelm makes a poor patient."

Aragorn's lips twitched in acknowledgement, but the humor faded as he followed Eomer's gaze to the devastation around them. Exhausted men and women could still be seen carrying buckets of water to dump on smoldering walls while others hauled salvageable belongings out of homes that would have to be rebuilt.

"It is not as bad as it looks, Eomer."

Eomer turned to him, ready for any encouragement the other man might give him.

"Most of the buildings which burned were those closest to the road. Elfhelm's men succeeded in preventing them from getting to the ones set further back, and there was no wind, preventing the fires from spreading as quickly as they might have."

Eomer nodded, relaxed a little. That would make a difference. The number of buildings lost or sustaining a great deal of damage was still too high, but at least he wasn't facing the loss of the entire city.

Then he braced himself for what he really wanted to know, but was so afraid to ask.

"Thirty-two." Aragorn's voice was soft, and full of compassion as he anticipated the question.

"Dead?" He'd been expecting it, but the number still stunned him.

At the other man's nod, he turned away, muttered an oath.

"All were lost before we arrived, Eomer. Although there were a few new injuries, there were no more casualties once we joined the battle."

Eomer closed his eyes, sighed. "A third of Elfhelm's eored," he murmured. Would the deaths never stop? Had their hopes for peace after the hideous days of the War of the Ring been completely misguided? It seemed so. Bracing himself again, he asked the next question. "How many injured?"

"Thirty-three. Some are minor, others are more serious, but I believe they will all survive – though several may never fight again."

"They shouldn't have to." His voice was bitter. "But fools that we are, even now we can not guarantee peace."

"No, not until we discover the source of the orcs' organization. But there cannot be that many of them remaining, which means that whoever is behind these attacks will have to fight directly now." After a pause, he continued more slowly. "This was a major campaign, Eomer. They – whoever is behind this – expected to hear of the downfall of Edoras tonight, and with it, the very heart of Rohan. Instead, the army they've done so much harm with is now destroyed. Your city is damaged, but still stands. And while the loss of the men is grievous to bear—"

"—it could have been far worse. I know." He turned, looked back up the hill. "If not for Eoden, we would have arrived back fresh from our defeat of the orcs attacking the herds to find nothing but ashes." The thought still made his knees go soft, so he turned his mind in a different direction.

"Speaking of Eoden, I need to have a talk with him. Interested in coming along?" He looked at Aragorn with a raised eyebrow.

A glint in the other man's eyes told Eomer he could guess the nature of the conversation. "I wouldn't miss it."

They turned, started up the hill as Eomer thought over what Aragorn had said. "Were there only the two Uruks?"

"Yes. They were key in organizing this battle, but nothing Elfhelm or any of his men saw suggested that they were capable of coordinating this attack with the ones on the herds. It's possible that this is the end of the threat, Eomer, but…"

"But you don't believe that to be the case."

Aragorn was slow to respond. "My heart tells me otherwise," he finally said. "But I do believe whoever is targeting you sustained a major blow tonight. With you out of the city and not expected back, there was no reason for them to hold any orcs in reserve."

Eomer nodded, tried to find comfort in the words. But the devastation around him made it difficult to do so.

Their trek back up the hill took longer than his journey down, as he stopped to check on the Eorlingas he encountered. To check on them and encourage them. The latter was harder than he wanted it to be because he found himself unwilling to make false promises.

He was quiet as they neared the stable, weary from seeing so much grief and heartache in the eyes of his people – heartache he didn't know how to protect them against.

Breghelm stepped out of the stables to meet them, and Eomer braced for more bad news.

"The horses?" The stable seemed mostly quiet, though he could hear the occasional sound of an agitated animal.

The older man rubbed his eyes wearily before looking at him. "A few scrapes and bruises." He glanced back into the stable before turning back to Eomer. "The smoke upset them, and it took all our effort to keep them from doing more damage to themselves."

Eomer nodded, unsurprised but profoundly grateful that Breghelm wasn't reporting any deaths. Frightened horses were a threat to themselves, to each other, and to their keepers, and very nearly nothing frightened them more than fire.

"With most of the other men in the battle and putting out the fires, I don't know as I would have managed it without the boys," Breghelm added in a measured tone. "You were right about them. They're good lads."

It was an understatement, and Eomer nearly told him so, but instead said, "I know," then added, "…speaking of the boys, where are they? I'd like to have a word with Eoden."

"Sent the younger one up to hall for a meal, but Eoden is still in there," he motioned toward the stable. "Might well be asleep by now, but he won't leave his horse."

Their eyes met, and Eomer felt a smile tug at his mouth. More affirmation of how well some of his men – in this case, Breghelm – knew him. "He's a good lad," Breghelm repeated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. Tossing it at Eomer, he said, "best give that to your own mount, so he doesn't feel neglected." With that, he turned and started up toward the hall, no doubt heading for a meal for himself.

Eomer watched him go, then turned, gave Aragorn a partial grin. "He treats me the same as he did when I was eleven years old."

Aragorn turned, watched the elderly man make his way up the stairs. "You're a fortunate man," he said quietly.

Eomer knew he referred to the gift of being treated as a ordinary man occasionally, rather than king, but as he glanced out, down toward the city, then turned back toward the stable, he thought of how much worse the night's events would have been without a young boy's frantic ride across the plains of the Mark. "Yes," he agreed. "I am."

They went inside, and began working their way toward the stall where Eomer knew Eoden would be, but as it had taken time to reach the stable, so too did this, for he stopped to check on the animals, murmur soft words to them. Knew it would come as no surprise to Aragorn that Eomer spent nearly as much time reassuring the horses as he had the human inhabitants of Edoras.

For his part, he was grateful he'd invited Aragorn along as heard the other man speaking quietly in Elvish to one of the more restless animals.

They reached the end stalls and Firefoot leaned over and whuffed at him. Eomer was unsurprised to see that he'd been freshly brushed, and while grateful that it had been done, felt a flash of regret that he had not had time himself. It was one of the things he most resented about being king.

With a silent sigh, he offered Firefoot the apple, and took a few moments to stroke the horse before turning to the stall across the wide aisle.

Fleetfoot raised his head as Eomer approached, but didn't move closer to the gate, and once Eomer got close enough, he could see why. The horse had probably been sleeping, but the boy leaning against him definitely was – Eoden was quite literally asleep on his feet, his arms draped around Fleetfoot's neck.

Eomer slid the gate open, moved toward them. "Eoden?" he called in a soft voice.

The boy jerked awake and stepped back from the horse, a confused expression on his sleepy face. "Sire." He gave a hurried bow, then looked up. "Is something wrong?"

Anxiety laced his voice, and Eomer shook his head, noted the startled look that came into Eoden's eyes when he saw Aragorn standing behind him.

"No. We came to check on the horses – and you and Fleetfoot."

Surprise crossed Eoden's face, then pride settled there – but not before Eomer had seen a flicker of sorrow in his eyes.

Eoden turned, ran his hand down the horse's neck. "He's fine, sire," he said in a tight voice. "Wasn't even winded by the day's run. He'll make his new rider a fine mount."

Aragorn shifted next to him, and Eomer looked up, saw puzzlement on the other man's face. But before he could speak, Eoden turned back to them again, a forced smile on his face – and a shimmer of tears in his eyes he was obviously fighting to suppress.

"Some of the stable hands were talking about it." He paused, took a gulping breath, looked back at the horse, fisted his hand in the mane. "About how he's obviously ready to carry a rider, even into battle, and that you'd probably make a gift of him to one of the riders who served you particularly well today." He was speaking very fast, but his voice still cracked on the last word.

With someone else, Eomer might have strung out his response, might have indulged in a little teasing. But Eoden had already lost too much. "Eoden, he's yours," he said quietly. "I'm giving him to you."

It took a moment for the words to register. But Eoden finally looked up, a disbelieving look on his face. One of the tears leaked out, apparently unnoticed, as they watched.

"But—"

Eomer interrupted him. "What rider served me – and all of Edoras – better today than you?"

"I'm not a rider. Sire."

Eomer cocked his head, raised an eyebrow. "No? Your riding skills saved an entire city today." As disbelief turned to hope on Eoden's face, Eomer continued, "It's true that you're not yet ready to ride with an eored. But no one will ever say you aren't a rider, not after today." He reached out, stroked the horse's neck. "And you know yourself that some horses and riders simply belong together. I don't think Fleetfoot would cooperate if I tried to give him to someone else."

As if in response, the horse turned and nuzzled Eoden's hair, and the boy gave a weak laugh. "I thought I might be in trouble, particularly with Lord Elfhelm."

"For not getting permission before riding after us?" Eomer shook his head. "He's as proud of you as we are – though being Lord Elfhelm, he may well growl at you, just for form."

Eoden looked up at them and grinned, but his eyes were shining with pride.

"Take some rest, Eoden – off your feet." Eomer said firmly. "That's a command."

Smiling, Eoden stroked the horse again. "Yes, sire."

* * *

_A/N: Hapy New Year! I hope you all had a wonderful start to 2006, and that this year brings all you hope for. Many thanks to those of you who continue to take the time to review. It's appreciated more than you know. :)_

_Istarriel asked about a typo in the last chapter. You're correct, unfortunately! It's a bit mind boggling to think of how many times both I and several others have read that chapter and yet missed that there should be a negative in that sentence. Thanks for catching it!_


	29. Life in the Midst of Sorrow

Lisswyn slid several more loaves of bread into the large oven and stepped back, away from the heat, before stretching. Fighting a yawn, she rubbed her eyes. Dawn had not been far off when the last of the injured riders had been cared for, but she'd been too restless to sleep – her mind had still been too full of images of the battle, the men she'd cared for…and the encounter with the King.

So instead of seeking her bed, she'd come to the kitchen to offer whatever help she could, and promptly been put to work making bread. It had been a good choice of activity, as the rhythmic kneading had finally allowed her to begin to relax.

It was now late morning, but she thought perhaps she could finally sleep, at least for a while. The last she'd looked, the hall was full of exhausted people, including many of those who'd lost their homes and were now curled up on the floor along the walls.

Turning, she discovered the kitchen was vacant. Even Tille must have finally gone to get some rest before finishing the lunch preparations. Yawning again, she started from the kitchen, only to encounter Hilde just outside the door. Although obviously agitated, upon closer inspection it was clear the older woman was excited more than alarmed.

"Lisswyn! I've been looking for you. The midwife says Liffild is in labor!"

All thoughts of sleep fled as she followed Hilde to the narrow stairs leading to the lower level of Meduseld.

"She began experiencing the pains late yesterday and the midwife said not to move her – the room she's been sleeping in is full of injured riders, anyway."

She found Liffild and Mylla in a narrow storeroom. Although small, it was at least private.

Lisswyn wasn't sure what to expect from Liffild. The only woman she'd ever sat with through labor had been her mother, and none of those births had gone well. Most of them had ended in the babe's death, and the final one had given them Brynwyn but taken her mother's life.

But she found the other woman mostly calm, with only a gleam of excitement in her eyes betraying her feelings about giving birth.

She grimaced when Lisswyn sat down next to her, and shifted her weight. "I told him he could not be born during the orc attack, and he cooperated…to a point."

"He?"

The gleam in Liffild's eyes intensified. "Only a boy-child would want so badly to have been here for a battle."

Lisswyn laughed softly. For the first time, she wondered what it would truly be like to carry another person inside you. With her mother's pregnancies, she had been too young, and later too worried, to think about such things. But now, the thought came to her, and she reached out, gently touched Liffild's stomach – then looked up, startled at the movement she felt.

Liffild reached down, rubbed the area, gave Lisswyn a wry smile. "I'd been told that the babe would stop kicking me so much when it was near time for the birth. But I believe this one has been trying to kick his way out instead of coming in the usual manner."

Lisswyn smiled in response, felt her eyes widen when the baby kicked again, against her hand. Again, she wondered what it must feel like, but suppressed the curiosity before her thoughts could lead to the King. Best not to go there.

She cleared her throat before glancing back up, taking in both Liffild and the midwife. "How long do you think it will be?"

Mylla shook her head. "The child is definitely on his way, but he's not making it easy to guess how long it will take for him to arrive. A while yet."

Mylla was right. Although Liffild was obviously in labor, the pains were yet far apart, so at their request, Lisswyn told them of the battle, forcing back the lump that wanted to settle in her throat at the memory of the moment the riders had swept into the courtyard.

"I knew the King would return in time," Liffild said. "And it was our Eoden who went after him." Her eyes met Lisswyn's. "His mother would be very proud of him."

Lisswyn nodded, the mention of Maegwen bringing back the ache for her friend. "They're saying that the King gifted him with the horse he rode."

"Did he?" Liffild's eyes gleamed in pleasure. "That's a fine thing—" her words cut off as another pain took her, and she reached for Lisswyn's hand, squeezed hard.

"Betta told me that the King is calling him a hero." As she spoke, Mylla got up, checked the progress of the labor. Then she looked up. "Slow and steady, that's what this one is, Liffild. But that's not abnormal for a firstborn."

The other woman, exhausted from the contraction, simply nodded.

Trying to distract her, Lisswyn reached over and picked up a small blanket lying on the bed next to Liffild. Soft wool, it was obviously intended for the baby, but its color fascinated her. "What a lovely shade of green!"

Liffild smiled, then looked at Mylla. "It was a gift," she nodded at the midwife.

"Every babe should be welcomed into the world with a gift. And who better than the midwife attending the birth?" Mylla said with a smile.

"It's beautiful. Do you mind if I ask where the dye came from? What plant?" she asked.

"It's not a secret," Mylla answered. "There's a plant that grows out in the foothills. Not far from Edoras, really. It gives us that shade of green."

Lisswyn nodded thoughtfully. Eowyn would look good in a dress that color, she thought. And maybe now, with the orc threat gone, she would have some time to weave and sew.

Mylla was correct about a firstborn taking his time – it was late evening before Eomer-Oslaf finally put in an appearance.

But the long wait was worth it as Mylla handed him to Lisswyn to clean while she attended to Liffild.

Taking the squalling infant, Lisswyn grinned at the noise he was making. "Shhh, little one. I'll have you right back with your mother," she murmured.

When she turned back to the bed, she saw that Mylla had efficiently gotten Liffild cleaned up and that her friend's eyes were anxiously following Lisswyn as she swaddled the child.

Lisswyn smiled as she carried the babe back to her. "They say loudness is an indication of health." She laughed as the noised increased. "He should be fine, then!"

Greedily, Liffild reached for him, spoke softly to him. The crying didn't immediately subside, but it did grow quieter, and she smiled in pleasure, stroked his cheek, before looking up at Lisswyn. "I would have been just as happy with a girl-child, but I'm glad he's a boy. It will be good to be able to hear the name Oslaf spoken again," she said wistfully. As if he heard his name, the baby cried louder, and his mother's smile turned rueful. "It doesn't look as if I will ever compare his personality to his father, though."

Lisswyn laughed. Oslaf had been known for his quiet manner. "Do you still intend to call him after the King as well?"

Liffild gave her a knowing look. "Yes. He shall be Eomer-Oslaf. But that's a mouthful for a little one, so I shall call him Oslaf most of the time – until he's old enough to require both names to keep him in line," she ended on a chuckle.

It was sometime later before both mother and son were settled down for a well-deserved sleep, and Lisswyn finally felt free to seek her own bed. Once they had realized that she hadn't slept since before the battle, both Liffild and Mylla had encouraged her to rest, but she had been unable to do so. Haunted by the memory of the way her mother's labors had ended, she hadn't been truly able to relax until Oslaf was safely wrapped in his mother's arms and it was clear that Liffild had survived the long delivery.

Exhausted beyond reason, Lisswyn stumbled into the main hall, and looked around, blinking. It was late in the evening, and the hall was quiet except for the soft snores of those who slept curled up along the walls.

She made her way to the room she'd been sharing with some of the other women and then simply stood there, staring stupidly inside.

There was no room. She could see Hilde and Brynwyn in the bed, but instead of the space Lisswyn usually slept in were what looked like two other small children, and the floor was literally covered with their mothers and siblings.

Of course. It should have occurred to her that in a crisis like the one Edoras was currently facing with the lost buildings, that every bed would be needed. Hilde probably thought Lisswyn would spend the night with Liffild – but there was no room for an additional body to stretch out in the narrow room where Liffild had given birth.

Lisswyn backed out of the chamber, closed the door. What now? She wasn't even sure where to go to find a cover to wrap up in.

Yawning, she turned back to the main hall, made her way to the tables near the King's dais. There should be some bread and cheese out. She'd have a little while mulling over her sleeping options. At least she'd be sitting down.

* * *

"What?" Eomer stood up, looked over at Eowyn. "There's something else you're not telling me." Glancing back down, he shoved the parchments on his desk aside. It was simply too late to try to make sense of the reports. His mind was already a jumble of buildings lost and damaged, injured riders, and estimates of time it would take to repair the main gate, without spending more time staring at the reports detailing all those same figures – plus other, smaller crises.

As late as it was, he'd just finished a meeting with his advisors, and having sent them all off to rest, was thinking of finally trying to grab a few hours of sleep himself. But his sister had not left when the others had, and her expression told him he wasn't going to like whatever she said next.

"The situation in the kitchen still needs resolution."

He stared at her blankly. A fourth of Edoras was in ruins, the gates destroyed, he was once again planning funerals for dead riders – and she wanted him to think about finding a new cook? What did he know of managing a kitchen? This was why he needed a queen.

But even if he didn't – yet – have a queen, he did have a steward and a housekeeper. "Why aren't Ealdred or Betta looking into it?" In his exhaustion, the words came out more petulantly than he'd intended, and he was glad Eowyn was the only one to have heard them. "I take it no one has yet suggested anyone who could take Hunlaf's place?"

"Betta believes Tille can do it."

"Then why—"

"I agree with Betta." Eowyn's words were quiet. Deliberate. "I also think we owe Tille the opportunity."

"What do you mean?" He knew his sister too well, and her tone was a warning. He had a sudden sick feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever she said in response. Her face was pale, with more than just exhaustion, and in her eyes were guilt and misery beyond the current situation in Edoras.

"Why did we never wonder why Hunlaf would only ever allow one assistant at a time?" she finally asked.

It wasn't like Eowyn to take an indirect approach to discussing a problem. Something was badly amiss here, and he was too tired to try to guess what it was. "He said he didn't like a lot of people about, would rather work with just one person." Eomer frowned, confused. "You know that as well as I do. What's going on?"

"Why did we never wonder why it was always a very young woman that he chose to work with him?"

He stared at her for a long moment, at the anguish in her eyes, and felt the sickness spread. "No." Filled with dread, he couldn't get anything else out.

Her hands came up, rubbed her eyes. When she looked at him again, she was struggling against tears. "He abused her, Eomer. Horrifically. Raped her. Repeatedly."

"No," he said again. He took a step back from her, desperately wanting to deny her words.

"Do you remember Lufe?"

Stunned and horrified, he started to shake his head. The name was familiar though. "She was the assistant before Tille, wasn't she?"

Eowyn nodded. "You were on patrol when she took sick and died suddenly."

He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"She was pregnant with Hunlaf's child, so he poisoned her."

"But why…" Sickened, baffled, furious, he stared at her. "Why didn't she say something?"

"To Wormtongue? To Uncle during the worst of his—"

"Neither Wormtongue nor Theoden-King are here now," he snapped.

"Hunlaf told her we wouldn't believe her. He also told her he'd kill her if she tried."

A young woman in his household…she'd been under his protection, and he hadn't protected her. He slumped down on the edge of the desk, waited for the fury to come. But perhaps due to his own exhaustion, all he felt was a sick sense of failure. "I knew I should have killed him when I had the chance," he muttered.

"I should have guessed."

Eowyn's voice trembled on the words, and he gave her a sharp look, suddenly understanding that she was feeling a different kind of guilt. She, who had lived with the threat of Wormtongue's lust, while Eomer had been powerless to protect her. "It wasn't your fault."

She shook her head. "I should have known," she repeated.

"We all should have wondered at his insistence that he have only one assistant, a young woman of his choosing." He rubbed his face, tried not to think of the horror the young woman had endured. "How is she?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. This all came out this afternoon, to Betta, who brought her to me. Tille seems mostly relieved, perhaps a little shocked, as if she still can't believe he's really gone."

Again, he struggled for a response. What could he possibly do now that would somehow right the wrong that had been done to the young woman? Nothing. As a member of the King's household, she should have been safe.

"It's Betta who thinks the best thing for her might be to allow her to take over the kitchen."

"It looks like she'd want to be anywhere else, away from the memories," he said hesitantly, unsure of what to say. He could follow his instincts, hunt Hunlaf down and kill him as painfully as possible, but that wouldn't undo the damage the man had done – to Tille or to Lufe before her. "Perhaps she'd like to go with you to Ithilien when you go, as an attendant?"

She shook her head again. "Apparently she coped by learning all she could from him – both in cooking and baking, and in how to manage the kitchen for a large household. Betta thinks that replacing him in the kitchen, and doing a good job, will be a victory of sorts for her over him."

"She's very young for so much responsibility, isn't she?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he grimaced. Not too young to have been victimized.

"Betta thinks she can do it, and after watching her for several days, I'm inclined to agree. She's managing to keep everyone fed, despite the current crisis."

He nodded. As something to offer the young woman, it still felt completely inadequate. "Find out from Betta how we can best support her." He frowned, rubbed his eyes. He knew nothing of kitchens. "Perhaps by getting her some assistants?"

Eowyn nodded, then came to him, leaned against him and sighed, as if relieved of a weight.

He wrapped his arms around her, exhausted and burdened by responsibilities and a growing list of people he'd failed.

After a moment, she pulled away, looked up at him. "You should get some rest."

He nodded. "What of you?"

"I slept for a while earlier. I was just going to the kitchen to check on things." At his questioning look, she continued, "Apparently, Tille seldom sleeps. If there's anything Betta is worried about, it's that she'll exhaust herself trying prove her capabilities."

"Find someone to help her." It still sounded completely inadequate, but Eowyn nodded.

They walked together to the door, and stepped out. Eomer had only intended to take a last look around the hall before going to his bedchamber, but then he spied the figure asleep at the table.

He looked at Eowyn, puzzled, then moved quietly toward Lisswyn.

"She's been with Liffild all day. I doubt she's slept," Eowyn said quietly. "The babe must have finally been born," she motioned around the hall, to the people curled up along the wall, "but she may well have then discovered there was no place for her to sleep."

Eomer grimaced, gazed down at Lisswyn. Her head resting on her folded arms, she was deeply asleep.

"She needs a bed," he said softly.

Eowyn touched his arm, then motioned. "Bring her to my room."

He looked at her, then nodded his head. Her willingness to share her bed was another sign of her affection and acceptance of Lisswyn, but he was too tired and discouraged to express appreciation for it. Leaning over, he gathered Lisswyn into his arms. She sighed, curled into him, but never woke.

It felt good to have her in his arms.

Shifting her to a more comfortable position, he followed Eowyn to her chamber, then waited while his sister pulled back the covers before laying Lisswyn on the bed.

He covered her, watched as she sighed again before snuggling into the bed.

With an exhausted sigh of his own, he sank into a nearby chair, his eyes on the woman in the bed. He knew he should seek his own rest, and he would – in just a little while.

"Eomer," Eowyn's voice was soft. "You must sleep."

Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at her. "I know. I will."

She walked over to him, rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. Hesitating, it was clear she wanted to say something else, but settled instead for squeezing his shoulder before turning and leaving the room.

Eomer was relieved. He loved her dearly, but he badly needed some time to sort out his thoughts – thoughts full of sorrow, fury, and guilt.

* * *

Lisswyn woke slowly, only gradually realizing that she wasn't sharing a bed, that Brynwyn wasn't pressed against her back.

She wasn't in the room she normally slept in. It took a moment to identify the chamber as belonging to the King's sister, which made no sense at all. How had she come to be sleeping in Lady Eowyn's bed? It was still dark in the room, but a glance at the window told her that dawn was not far off.

Frowning, she tried to recall the previous day, and slowly the memories came back – the battle, the long night of caring for injured riders, Liffild's labor—ah. The room she normally slept in had been full of women and children from Edoras.

That still didn't explain how she had wound up in Eowyn's bed. The last she remembered was sitting down to have some bread and cheese.

Hearing a soft noise, as of a sigh, she sat up and looked around, only to stare, stunned, at the form of the King sound asleep in a nearby chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

That explained how she got to Eowyn's bed. But why was he still here? Why hadn't he sought his own bed?

Frowning, she eased as silently as possible out from under the covers. Now what? Her stomach was reminding her that as she hadn't actually eaten any of the bread the night before, that it was past time for a meal, but she hated simply to leave him.

She moved closer, stared down at his handsome face, grateful that the candle in the wall sconce still burned.

Even in sleep, he looked troubled, a crease in his forehead indicating that concerns for the Riddermark followed him into his dreams.

Without thinking, she reached out, nearly touched him before realizing what she was doing and starting to draw her hand back. As she did, his eyes opened and he reached up, caught her wrist in his hand.

"Lisswyn?" his tone was confused.

Flustered, she tugged on her hand, not knowing how to respond. She couldn't very well admit to nearly stroking his forehead. "Forgive me for waking you."

The confusion cleared from his face, and he glanced at the window, sighed before sitting up straight in the chair. He released her hand, rubbed his hands over her face. "It is time for me to awaken, anyway. There is much to do." His shoulders sagged as he spoke.

It was a marked contrast to his manner while she'd cleaned his mail scratches after the battle, but that was probably normal. He'd now had an entire day of dealing with the aftermath of the attack.

But it saddened her to see him thus. Kneeling on the floor next to him, she looked up at his shadowed face. He was staring at his hands, currently resting on his knees. What could she say that could help?

"The Riddermark is strong," she finally said softly. "We will rebuild, will survive this."

He met her eyes, but didn't reply.

And she suddenly understood. "You could not have done other than you did in riding out to protect the herds. This is not your fault."

"Isn't it?" His voice flat, he stared at her, weariness and despair evident in his eyes.

"No. How could it be?"

"I'm the King," he said simply. "It is my duty to protect and defend the Riddermark. Instead, an entire village is wiped out because of me, and now a fourth of Edoras is in ruins, a third of Elfhelm's eored is awaiting burial—"

"Stop it," She said sharply. It was the same tone she might use with Brynwyn, and they both looked startled by it. Figuring she had only moments before he'd recover from the shock and reprimand her for taking such a tone with him, she plunged on. "Being King does not mean prevention of every possible ill that could befall the Mark."

He scowled but didn't respond, so she continued. "What was it King Elessar said about Maegwen's death? It was the orc's fault. Not Eoden's, nor yours or mine. And it is the orcs who are to blame for the loss of the village, Elfhelm's men, and the buildings in Edoras. What should you have done? Left the herds – our very existence – to the mercy of the orcs? I think not."

Suppressing a wince at the sharpness of the words, she spoke more gently. "Even King Elessar, with his seeing stone, could not tell exactly how many orcs there were. And if there had been just a few less in number, Elfhelm's men would have been able to hold out against them. You made a completely reasonable choice given the information you had, and no one in Edoras blames you for it."

Since he hadn't yet snapped at her, she gave into the desire to touch him, reaching over to touch his hand, unprepared for how quickly he turned his over, linked their fingers. "Our people do not expect you to prevent every possible disaster, only to lead us through them," she ended simply.

He said nothing for a long moment, just stared at their entwined fingers. Then he pulled away, stood, and walked over to tend the fire. She watched him, her heart aching.

With his back to her, he finally spoke. "Seeing Edoras in ruins, preparing for more funerals…it makes all the losses we suffered last spring a mockery. What did they die for, if not the hope that our people could live in safety?"

He sounded so weary. She struggled to find the right words. "The fact that the war is, apparently, not yet completely over does not mean that those who died earlier died in vain," she finally said quietly.

Standing, she moved across the room, stood next to him. Uncertain as to how much comfort he would accept, she hesitated for a moment before reaching out, gently touching his arm. "You must not let your grief blind you." He turned to her, and she kept her gaze steady on him, her tone firm. "Edoras is not in ruins."

He stared at her for a long moment, then reached out, pulled her to him. Lisswyn went gladly, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against his chest. She felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, and they stood that way for a long moment.

"That makes it a bit easier," he finally said.

Confused, she looked up at him.

"Thinking of it as the absolute final end of the war of the ring, the last, desperate fight of the remainder of the orcs, rather than a new war we're ill equipped to fight."

"Do you not think that that is so? There can not be that many more of the creatures."

"So Aragorn says. You're in good company with that theory." He smiled as he said it, a weak ghost of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"I know it is hard to think of the loss of more men, to think of Elfhelm's grief," she said softly. "But it is no small thing that no one else was injured, that most of Edoras still stands."

He nodded, then leaned down, gently kissed her. "Lisswyn, I—"

A throat being cleared behind them interrupted him, and he snapped his mouth shut in annoyance.

"Eomer." Eowyn spoke from the door, her voice full of disapproval, and Lisswyn saw frustration settle on the King's face.

Flustered and embarrassed, she pulled away from him. What must his sister be thinking, finding her in his arms, next to the bed? Mortified, she turned to leave the room. "I'll go check on Liffild," she muttered a little desperately as she quickly exited.

Eomer watched her go, then turned to Eowyn, forcibly reined in his annoyance. "You could have knocked."

"It's my door," she pointed out. "And I expected her to be here by herself, asleep in the bed."

The words were an accusation, and he had fight back an angry response. "I fell asleep in the chair," he bit off. "It wasn't planned." Feeling the need to defend himself, he added, "nothing improper happened." But he'd been about to do something unwise and speak of his feelings, and a look at his sister's face told him she knew it.

"Eowyn…"

She walked over to him, stared hard at him. "You do not seem as disheartened as you did last night, so I will not give you more grief. But you must continue to be careful with her reputation, Eomer."

He looked over at the door Lisswyn had exited through. "She always knows what to say to me. I don't know how, but she does." He looked back at Eowyn, gave her a helpless look. "You're right. But…"

She reached up, touched his cheek. "The orcs are dead. Soon you will be able to plan a trip to Gondor. I know it is difficult, but think of how much better it will be to speak to her of your feelings once things have been resolved with the Prince of Dol Amroth."

"And your betrothed," he reminded her with a grimace.

She stared at him for a long moment, then repeated his action of a moment before and glanced over at the door Lisswyn had gone through before looking back at him. "The better acquainted I become with Lisswyn, and the more I observe the two of you together, the more convinced I am that she is a good choice for you. And not only that, I believe she will make a good queen for the Mark. I will make sure Faramir understands this."

Gratitude swamped him, and he leaned forward, kissed her forehead. "Thank you."


	30. Hope and Despair

Two days later, Eomer stood on the porch of Meduseld and looked out over Edoras in the afternoon light. The sun was shining, but there was an warning chill in the air. Autumn was upon them, and would spare no mercy for those who'd lost their homes to the orcs.

At a noise behind him, he turned, watched as Elfhelm joined him. The other man's face was grave as he looked out over the city. "We do not have much time to rebuild the lost homes," he said.

Unsurprised that the Marshal's thoughts so closely echoed his own, Eomer nodded, but then slowly said, "Not all of them have to be rebuilt before winter. There were buildings standing empty, and some of those affected have indicated they will move in with their families."

"The widows of my men." Elfhelm grimaced, grief in his eyes as he focused on a point west of the city, where a new burial mound sat, monument to the riders they'd buried there the afternoon before.

"They fought well, Elfhelm, and saved the city." Understanding his friend's sorrow, Eomer's eyes settled on the mound as well.

The Marshal nodded, then glanced at him. "Have the men riding with King Elessar departed?"

He nodded. Aragorn had ridden off that morning with his men, intent on tracking any evidence to the north of more orcs, as well as to see if he could discover anything more of their organization. A few Eorlingas, including Eothain, had gone as well, to reassure the people of the Riddermark that the Gondorians were acting on Eomer's behalf.

A group of men from Edoras had also ridden out. They would stop at one of the forested areas and begin felling the trees necessary for rebuilding the gates and the lost homes. While Aragorn continued north, the other group would return home with the logs.

"We owe King Elessar a great debt," Elfhelm murmured.

"He told me once that there would never be talk of debts or owing between us," Eomer responded slowly. "Our standing with Gondor on the Pelennor Fields is still fresh in his mind, as is the knowledge that what goes ill for one of our lands will surely spread to the other. Nonetheless, I am still grateful to him – not the least for what he has now undertaken, to survey the north of the Mark." He sighed. "I would have preferred to have done that myself, as well, but…"

"You cannot be in two places at the same time," Elfhelm finished the thought. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice weary. "What will we do if there are yet more orcs?"

"Aragorn does not see how there can be that many more of them, not based on what he's seen in the palantir, nor even simple logic – many of them were lost before the Black Gate as well. And their defeat the other night cost them dearly," he finished with grim satisfaction.

Elfhelm's expression was troubled. "But we still don't understand the source of their organization. And until we know for certain that they've all been routed, I will not rest easy – at the very least, not until the gates have been rehung."

Eomer nodded. They had as many men as possible guarding the entrance to the city at all times, but Edoras would remain vulnerable until new gates were in place. In that sense, Aragorn's departure had been a risk, balancing the need to know the truth about the orcs with the current increased vulnerability of Edoras.

There simply weren't enough men to do all the heavy tasks necessary both to protect the city and rebuild all at once. Some of the physically stronger women and children were doing what they could, particularly in hauling away what remained of the burnt-out buildings, but the women were also needed elsewhere. Someone had to tend to the injured riders, the harvest, and the children.

That the remaining harvest had been left untouched by the orcs had been one of the unexpected blessings of the battle. So sure had the orcs been of their victory that they'd not bothered savaging the fields prior to the attack on the city. Presumably, they'd figured there would be no one left to need their providence once the city had been destroyed.

"I saw your lady amongst those hauling away charred wood," Elfhelm said suddenly.

Startled by the change in topic, Eomer turned, stared at him. The Marshal was a good man, a good soldier, but seldom did his thoughts turn from his eored and the security of the Mark.

"Do you think me blind to all but battle?" Humor laced Elfhelm's tone, and knowing the grief his friend still carried over his fallen men, Eomer forced back a twinge of resentment that his feelings for Lisswyn were not his own affair.

"She is not really my lady. Not yet, at least," he finally said softly. The guards behind them were loyal, but he would give them no fodder for gossip.

Elfhelm looked startled, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I have seen the way you look at each other, Eomer."

He weighed how much to say in response. He didn't mind his life providing a distraction from the current crisis, but not even to his closest friend would he say something that could risk tainting the Princess of Dol Amroth's name with gossip. "There is another situation I must clear up before I am free to court her," he finally said.

"I see." It was clear that he didn't, but before Eomer could respond further, the Marshal spoke again. "I hope that you can do so soon, then. A wedding and a queen would lift the peoples' spirits, and I can think of no one more suitable than Lisswyn. She has earned the respect of our people with her hard work and the courage she displayed during the battle the other night." He gave Eomer a half smile. "But beyond all of that, I would see you happy, my friend."

Moved, Eomer simply nodded, looked out over the city. It cheered him to hear that people were beginning to accept Lisswyn. Unfortunately, it was as if fate itself was conspiring against him – if finding his way free to go to Gondor while the orcs had been a threat had been difficult, going now, in the aftermath of the attack while so much of Edoras needed to be rebuilt would be impossible.

It might well be spring before he dared leave, and what would that do to Lisswyn, if he could not speak of his feelings for that long? Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, wondered again if he should at least tell her why he was delaying. But to what purpose if it turned out he wasn't free to wed her?

"Eomer."

A new tension was in Elfhelm's voice, and Eomer looked up, looked in the direction the marshal was staring.

It took a moment to see what his friend was seeing – dust clouds, thrown up by movement to the southeast of Edoras. It was impossible to tell from this distance who it was, or even if it was riders on horseback or more orcs marching on them.

He swore, a sharp word full of frustration. It might be nothing more alarming than one of the southern eoreds coming to check on Edoras.

But it might not be.

"Assemble your men who are fit to fight." He turned to the guards, saw that they had heard the last exchange, at least. "Muster the royal guard to meet me on their horses at the gate."

Grimly, he wondered if the risk they had taken of sending so many men off to fell trees – or with Aragorn – would prove fatal.

At least this time, he was in the city, would be present at the beginning of the attack, if such a thing occurred. Aware that he was being particularly suspicious of whomever was coming toward them, he decided he was entitled to such distrust with the gates to the city in ruins and most of the men away or injured.

He stalked inside to don his armor and warn Eowyn that battle might be imminent.

* * *

Eomer sat on Firefoot, watched the riders coming toward them. By the time he had arrived at the gate, they'd been able to confirm it wasn't orcs marching toward them, and the men with him had given a collective sigh of relief. 

But they still didn't know who it was that was approaching. Although the riders were moving at a brisk pace, it wasn't a panicked one. These were not men rushing to report a crisis, and the recognition of that allowed him to relax a little more.

Impatient to know who it was, he nudged Firefoot forward, knew the riders around him would follow.

After only a few moments, Elfhelm lifted his hand, shaded his eyes against the late afternoon sun. His voice puzzled, he said, "I see two distinct standards, but cannot identify them."

Eomer stared hard in the direction of the riders, felt wonder war with disbelief and confusion as the banners gradually came into focus. "Faramir and Imrahil," he murmured.

"Ithilien and Dol Amroth?" Elfhelm's voice was puzzled as he too could now identify the standards, and even knowing Eomer didn't have the answer, he nevertheless asked the question. "But why have they come?"

"I don't know," Eomer responded slowly. "But given our current situation, I can only be grateful." The men who traveled with the princes would serve as extra security for the city, if nothing else. And on a personal level, it meant he could have the conversation he most longed to have – both with the other two men, and then with Lisswyn. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he felt truly hopeful about the future.

He turned to Thedhelm, riding behind him. "Send for my sister. I believe she'll wish to be made aware of this development as quickly as possible."

Beside him, Elfhelm gave a choked laugh at his dry tone, and Eomer grinned in response. Realized it felt good to do so.

* * *

Eomer took another sip of wine and glanced around the great hall of Meduseld. His people mingled with the riders from Dol Amroth and Ithilien, doing their best to welcome the Gondorians with food, ale, and Gondorian wine from Meduseld's cellars. The atmosphere in the hall was relaxed and cheerful, very different from the past few days, and he knew it was due to the presence of Imrahil and Faramir and their men. Although it was understood that the men of Edoras had had to go fell trees to begin rebuilding the city, the fear of another orc attack and feeling of vulnerability in the face of the destroyed gates had been widespread, and the unexpected arrival of the Gondorians had done much to allow the people of Edoras to relax. 

He turned, studied the man sitting next to him. Imrahil was tired from the ride, that was clear, but his eyes were steady as he looked around the hall.

"Faramir has gone off with your sister, I presume?" The Prince's mouth curved upward as he finally turned to Eomer.

"I believe she has appointed herself his guide," he replied, humor lacing his tone. "They're surveying the situation at the gates, and making sure the men guarding the city have eaten. Or so she informed me." After the past few dark days, it had been good to see Eowyn and Faramir's joy at being reunited.

The other man smiled, but before he could comment further, Eomer spoke. "Imrahil, do not misunderstand this," he said slowly, "as I can think of few times in my life I've been more relieved to see someone than I was you and Faramir today. But why have you come? How did you know of our need?"

"He did not tell you?" At Eomer's puzzled expression, Imrahil's expression turned thoughtful. "Elessar sent for us, indicating that he thought a show of unity in the north – that all of Gondor truly stands with Rohan – would be a good thing. Since Minas Tirith's defense does not rest on cavalry, our being here does not compromise the security of Gondor. It is also allowing my sons to acquire additional experience in leadership, as they have taken over the temporary administration of both Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth."

"I see," Eomer said slowly, still puzzled. Not that it mattered a great deal, but why hadn't Aragorn told him of the message he'd sent south? Particularly when he knew Eomer was concerned about his ability to defend Edoras in the event of more attacks? Not to mention the other, more personal reason he'd wished to see Imrahil and Faramir.

"Elessar has his own reasons for doing things," the Prince said slowly, "but it may be that he didn't know how long it would take us to make the ride north, and thought it best that you not be counting on us."

Eomer nodded, wondered when Aragorn had sent the message. Silence fell between them again. He looked back out at the crowded hall, pondered when and how he could raise the topic of the Prince's daughter. Obviously not now, when they could be overheard. But even if they retired to his study, the timing felt off. As much as he wanted the matter resolved, it felt wrong to do so when the other man had ridden long and hard to come to his aid, and while Edoras was still suffering from the battle with the orcs. To broach the topic too soon might make him look ungrateful or self-absorbed.

He sighed quietly, wondering how long it would be before he learned how to balance his needs with those of his people.

* * *

Lisswyn sat back from the loom, a satisfied smile on her face. Homes weren't the only thing the orcs had destroyed, making it not only enjoyable but also necessary for her to weave. After several busy and hectic days of doing whatever seemed most pressing at the time, it was also good to have a few hours to herself. 

She'd only seen the King once in the past two days, and that from across the great hall, but his mood had seemed lighter than the morning she had awakened in his sister's bed.

She was glad. He was such a good ruler, caring so deeply for the people of the Mark that it had been painful to see him so despairing. She suspected some of his lighter mood had to do with the arrival the night before of the riders from Gondor. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

The door opened, and she looked up, surprised to see Hilde slipping into the room. The older woman's expression was grim, and Lisswyn's hands on the loom slowly came to a halt.

"Hilde? What is it? What's the matter?" Unease slid up her spine. Closeted away in the weaving room, she would have no way knowing if some new emergency had befallen them. But it wasn't fear she was seeing on Hilde's face, as if more orcs had been spotted.

Hilde didn't answer right away, simply stared at her, and Lisswyn realized there was compassion lurking in the other woman's eyes as well.

"The King is to marry the Princess of Dol Amroth."

Lisswyn stared at her blankly for a moment. "What King?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced, wished them back. Knew how foolish and desperate they made her sound. With Elessar married, there were no other kings.

Hilde didn't answer, just stared at her, and Lisswyn finally had to look away from the pity she saw there.

It was a misunderstanding of some sort. It had to be. Briskly, she asked, "When was that announced? Have I been at the loom that long?"

"It hasn't been announced yet," Hilde admitted. "But one of the Gondorians mentioned it to the brother of one of the one of the servant girls."

Relief and hope struggled through the fear. Gossip. It was just gossip.

But servants frequently were the first to know such things, and gossip oftentimes had a basis in truth.

No. She wouldn't allow hearsay to upset her. "Just gossip, then."

Hilde nodded slowly. "True. But they're saying that is why Dol Amroth came as well as Prince Faramir. The Prince of Ithilien was obviously concerned, given his betrothal to the Lady Eowyn, and the Prince of Dol Amroth came for similar reasons – to make sure the Riddermark is safe for his daughter. Otherwise, he would have stayed to defend Gondor."

Pride came to the rescue. "If it's true, and Eomer-King is to marry the Princess of Dol Amroth, it is because it's the right thing for the Mark." Her voice was stiff.

Suddenly tired, she pushed away from the loom. What was the point of pretending the thought of the King's marriage didn't bother her – at least to Hilde? She looked at the other woman. "Thank you for telling me." Better to have heard it from Hilde than someone else. "If it's not gossip, I'm sure it will be announced at some point," she said quietly. "I'd like to be alone now."

Hilde nodded, the pitying look still present, before turning and exiting the storeroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

Lisswyn watched her go, then looked back at the loom. She should continue weaving. There were people in Edoras who'd lost all the clothing they had to the fires, including some of the women who had earlier shared their garments with Lisswyn and the other women from the caves. And always before, she'd found comfort in the loom's rhythm, in the creation of cloth.

But not right now. The room that had earlier felt like an oasis of peace and privacy now felt like a prison.

She left, walked briskly up the stairs and through the great hall, nodding to those she saw, but not stopping. Aware that she was very carefully keeping her mind a blank, she found herself on the road down through the city, nearing the gates – or rather, the hole where the gates normally hung. No one stopped her, no doubt all assuming she was on an errand of some kind.

It was a beautiful day in late autumn, warm with just a hint of chill in the air, and she suddenly quite desperately wanted to be out, away from the city, away from so many people. Away from her thoughts. Away from any chance encounter with the King.

Walking quickly, she exited through the gates and turned right, started around the wall toward the tombs of the kings.

Looking beyond the burial mounds, she saw the foothills in the distance, and remembered Mylla describing the plant that yielded that lovely shade of green dye. The sun was just now directly overhead, giving her plenty of time to walk out to the hills, harvest some of the plant, and return before dark. It would be safe enough – she'd remain within sight of the city, and the orcs had been defeated.

It had been so long since she'd been able just to go for a walk, to enjoy the land.

She started forward.

Was the king really betrothed? Or was it just gossip? But if was merely hearsay, how had the rumor begun? What was the kernel of truth that had been at its source? Perhaps he wasn't yet betrothed, but was going to be?

If so, why hadn't he told her?

Perhaps a better question was why _would_ he have told her. He'd never spoken to her of his feelings for her, and even less hinted at any kind of future for the two of them.

Heat stung her cheeks at the thought. Had she really started to think he might make her his queen?

No, not really. She'd known better than that, had never quite so lost touch with reality that she'd started imagining herself as his wife.

She remembered the night of the battle, the panic behind the way he'd first examined and then kissed her, and her conviction that it meant he loved her. She still believed that. There had been too much between them to believe otherwise.

But he was king, and his feelings for a commoner, a simple village girl, meant nothing. No matter what he felt for her, he would do what he believed best for the Riddermark, and that knowledge made her heart ache at the same time it made her proud of him.

Even if he wasn't betrothed to the Princess of Dol Amroth, it was only a matter of time before he married someone. The Riddermark needed an heir.

She tried to imagine living in Edoras, watching him wed someone else, watching the two of them _be_ married from a distance, and nearly staggered from the pain. The sharp physicality of it surprised her, and she brought her hand up, rubbed her heart gently as she continued to walk.

It wouldn't be fair to any of them for her to stay in Edoras. After all, it wouldn't be the queen's fault – whoever she turned out to be – and the best Lisswyn could hope for was that the King might find a measure of peace, and yes, even love, in that marriage. And that would presumably be easier if she were somewhere else.

But where? At the thought of moving again, of starting over in some strange village, a tear made its way down her cheek. What would another upheaval do to Brynwyn? And what of Hilde? The woman was too old to make another move, but she would insist on going with them. And Maegwen's boys…they would have to stay in Edoras. Their best chance for a future was with the King. But the thought of leaving them brought nearly as sharp a pain as the thought of leaving the King.

Hearing a noise, she started, turned, looked up. And saw Andric riding toward her, a frown on his young face.

"Lisswyn! What are you doing so far from the city?"

Glancing back, she realized she had walked a fair distance, was nearly to foothills. She forced a smile for him. "One of the women told me of some plants that grow in the hills and which make a green dye I want. And it's such a lovely day, I thought this might be my best chance to collect some of them."

He was now close enough for her to reach out and greet the horse, a dainty light-colored mare. Despite her sadness, she couldn't help but laugh at the way the horse snorted in disappointment at finding Lisswyn's hand empty of treats. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you." Andric's face glowed with pride. "This is the first time Breghelm has allowed me to exercise her by myself."

"Then you'd better not dally. I'll be back in the city before sunset."

He nodded, the troubled expression resettling on his face. Lisswyn ignored it, then patted the horse once more before turning back to resume her walk toward where she believed the little plant would grow.

* * *

_A/N: A short chapter, I know, but the next part will be along in a day or so. It was another case of two short ones or one very, very, long one, and this was the best place to break things up. Hope you enjoyed it. :)_


	31. Fury and Fear

Lisswyn wandered rather aimlessly for a while after parting from Andric before she found a patch of the plant near some boulders. Or at least she thought it was the same plant. She'd only seen it in its dried form, and this was larger than she'd anticipated. Nevertheless, she reached out, began to carefully pull the plant out of the ground.

Seeing Andric had upset her. How could she leave him and Eoden? Would that not be a betrayal of her promise to Maegwen to look after them? But how could she ask them to leave Edoras? How could she look after them if they went?

But how could she bear to remain in the city, once the king was married to someone else – no matter who that was?

Tears slipped down her cheeks, fell on the plants. She couldn't. As much as it would hurt to leave the boys, doing so was the best option for everyone. And Maegwen would have understood that she wasn't abandoning her promise to take care of them. By staying in Edoras, they would be cared for far better than if they went wherever she wound up going.

It would be good for no one if she tried to stay in Edoras once the king was married – not the boys, not herself, not the king or his bride.

For a moment, pity for the other woman – whoever she turned out to be – forced its way through her grief. Marrying a man who loved someone else was nothing to be envied.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Startled, she fell back, looked up. Men in dark clothing, the exact number hard to determine, surrounded her. While she'd been lost in unhappy thoughts, the afternoon had flown and the sun was already dropping behind the mountains.

She stared at them, uneasy with the expressions they wore. Then the man who'd spoken to her stepped out of the shadows, closer to her, and the expression on his face turned her unease into fear.

Hunlaf.

"What's the king's bedwarmer doing so far from Edoras?"

It took a moment for the insult to register, but before she could protest, he stalked across to her, and hauled her up by the hair. Lisswyn couldn't help a cry of pain as she staggered to her feet, trying to relieve the pressure on the side of her head. Attempting to free herself, she batted at his arm, which only seemed to amuse him. He grabbed her wrist, twisted it.

"Where's the king? Is this a tryst for the two of you?"

"What? No!"

"Where is he?" He shook her, and tears of pain came to her eyes. She blinked them away, furious with herself for allowing him to see the response.

"Edoras. At least he was there when I left." She forced firmness into her tone, would not to let him see how frightened she was.

He shook her again, then let her go so suddenly she fell. "If I find out you're lying to me, you'll regret it."

"I don't know exactly where he is. I'm not familiar with everything he does. You're wrong about our relationship."

He grabbed her again, hauled her up, making her suspect he'd dropped her just so he could grab her again. She bit her lip against the pain.

"Am I? Then that's not good for you, either. If you're not the king's little bedmate, then he might not care all that much about what happens to you. You cost me my position in the kitchens and made things much more complicated for me, so you owe me." His grin was evil. "And I'm going to enjoy taking what I'm due." He turned, looked at the rest of the men. "In fact, I think we all will."

The men laughed in response, and as the meaning of his words registered, fear turned into panic, and she kicked out at him.

He dodged the kick and laughed at her, then backhanded her so hard she landed across the clearing, her head striking one of the boulders.

Her last thought was one of despair. No one knew exactly where she was, and only Andric even realized she'd been out of the city that day.

* * *

"Your people are resilient, Eomer." Imrahil followed him into his study, then watched as Eomer closed the door behind him. "Given what they endured just a few nights ago, and the losses they suffered, they're surprisingly enthusiastic about the future." 

"Thank you." He stared at the door they'd just walked through, as if he could still see the people of Edoras on the other side. "We are a hardy folk."

"They have a good king."

He turned, looked at the older man, knew his embarrassment was apparent. "Thank you for that, as well. It is twice the compliment coming from a man such as yourself."

He meant the comment sincerely. Dol Amroth was well ruled, and had been, both before and during the war.

The Prince was now looking at him, a gleam in his wise eyes. A gleam that made Eomer nervous. They had spent the day touring Edoras, overseeing the work that was being done, visiting with those who'd lost homes and husbands, and Imrahil had made more than one favorable comment concerning what he seeing. Eomer was torn between simply being pleased, and fear that the other man was commenting on where he thought his daughter was going to live.

He had finally decided he could wait no longer to discuss Lothiriel and had suggested retiring to his study before the evening meal for just that purpose.

He'd only had one brief conversation with Faramir, as the Prince of Ithilien was still assisting Eowyn with her work among the people of Edoras. He had been unable to tell whether Eowyn had mentioned Lisswyn to him. Faramir was skilled at keeping his thoughts to himself, and could be difficult to read. He would have to talk to Eowyn, discover what she'd said, if anything, before approaching Faramir. That conversation could come later, after the conversation with Lothiriel's father.

Motioning Imrahil to sit in one of the chairs next to the fire, Eomer joined him, then stared off into the flames for a long moment. How to start? With Theoden gone and his own father long dead, it was easy to look up to the man sitting across from him, and he was loathe to broach the topic in such a way as to make Imrahil think poorly of him.

"Imrahil, there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you," he finally said slowly. "I'm not sure how to approach it," he admitted.

"Straight-forward is usually best."

The other man's voice was quiet, and Eomer nodded. After a long moment, he slowly said, "Shortly before Elessar's coronation, we discussed the possibility of a marriage between me and your daughter." He hesitated, then blurted out, "My situation has changed since then."

The Prince's expression cooled. "I see. You no longer believe my daughter would make a good queen?"

Shocked, Eomer looked at him. "No! Yes! No! No. Of course not. Of course I don't think that." A little desperately, he added, "Your daughter is a lovely and gracious woman who would make an exceptional queen. You know that." He stared at Imrahil in frustration for a moment, then choosing his next words carefully, he continued, "And honored would be the man who could call her his wife."

"But you do not wish to be that man." The coolness was still there.

A knock at the door sounded before he could formulate the next words, and he bit back an oath in response. "Come," he snapped, frustration at the delay evident in his voice.

The frustration abated when he saw Breghelm. There were a few people in Edoras that he knew for absolute certain wouldn't interrupt him without good cause, and the stablemaster was one of them.

And then he saw Andric, standing next to Breghelm, his face white and streaked with tears. All he could think of was that something had happened to Eoden. Before he could question them, though, the boy ran to him.

"They took her. They're hurting her. I didn't know how to stop them. I was afraid." He grabbed Eomer's hand, jerked. "They're hurting her. You have to do something."

Whom was he referring to? The words had come out fast and in a jumble, and Eomer glanced helplessly at Breghelm, noted for the first time the worry in the other man's eyes, and felt his own stomach knot. He looked back down at Andric, still clinging to him. "Who? Who's being hurt?"

"Lisswyn! They're hurting her. He knocked her down. He didn't know I was there. I didn't help her."

Lisswyn, in danger? How? Where? The knot slid greasily in his stomach. Andric was still babbling, repeating the same things over and over. Eomer grabbed his shoulders, shook him once, hard. "Andric! I need you to calm down." Giving the boy's shoulders a squeeze, he continued, "You're helping her now. But I have to know who's hurting her, and where they are. In Edoras?"

Andric swallowed hard, and shook his head. "I found her this afternoon. She was walking toward the hills. I was exercising one of the mares. She told me she was going to gather some plants, and that I should come home, but I didn't. She was crying, and I didn't like it."

Crying? Why was she crying? And out walking such a distance from Edoras?

Andric continued. "So I followed her – there's a trail that sort of goes up above where she was walking. I hid in some trees, up above this sort of rocky area where she found the plants. She just sat there for a long time, weeping. I didn't know what to do. Then I saw some riders come. They're all in black, and they found her, and were mean to her."

Riders in black? Eomer turned a baffled look to Breghelm. Could the boy have misunderstood what was happening?

He nearly missed Andric's next sentence.

"The cook. The one who used to be here. He was with them. He pulled her up by the hair and it hurt her. Then he got mad and hit her and she fell, and didn't wake up."

Eomer stared at him for a long moment, wanting to do deny what he was saying. Hunlaf. Remembering what Eowyn had told him, he recoiled in horror at the thought of Lisswyn being at the man's mercy.

…_hit her and she fell, and didn't wake up_. Andric's last words echoed in his mind, and fear and fury moved through him. She might already be dead. Gripping the boy's shoulders again, he demanded, "What happened then?"

"They put her on a horse, and took her away. I was going to follow, but didn't know how to help her, so I came back here. I didn't know how to help her."

Eomer looked up at Breghelm. "Get Elfhelm and Thedhelm for me." The stablemaster nodded and left, and Eomer looked back at Andric. "Listen to me. You did the only thing you could do by coming back. Did you ride fast?" At the boy's nod, he continued, "then you've helped her as much as you could. If you had stayed, they might have found you and no one would have known where either of you were. Can you tell me exactly where you were when you saw them last?"

Andric nodded. "Where the hills start – there's a path up, into some trees, where I was, and some caves further up. I think that's where the men came from. There's another path down from the caves, and at the bottom is an open area. Some small bushes and trees grow there, but there are a lot of rocks. That's where Lisswyn was. The men didn't see me because they came down the other path. Do you know where I mean?" He ended on an anxious note.

Eomer grimaced, and nodded. He knew exactly the area Andric was describing. Why had Lisswyn gone out there alone?

"You've done a good job of describing it," he reassured the boy. "Do you know how many men there were?"

Andric shook his head. "It was growing dark, and hard to see. But about fifteen, maybe."

"You'll want Faramir with you." Imrahil's voice was quiet, and startled him. He'd nearly forgotten the other man was present. Eomer looked over at him, saw understanding in his gaze. "He is a ranger. His tracking skills are second only to Elessar's." Compassion was in his eyes, but his voice was firm. "I and my men will stay here, provide security for your city."

Edoras. Eomer rubbed his eyes wearily, appalled that he hadn't even considered the possibility that this was another trap to get him out of the city, leave it vulnerable to a new attack. He looked back at Imrahil, grateful for the Prince's calm and authoritative manner.

Imrahil continued, "Edoras will be safe. And Faramir will help you track the men who have your lady."

Startled, Eomer stared at him. The Prince shook his head. "Even a good king would not have turned the shade of white you did upon hearing that one of the women of the city had been taken. We will continue our discussion when you've returned to the city with her."

Helplessly, Eomer nodded, not knowing what else to say. Relief that perhaps Imrahil was going to forgive him for the unintended insult to Lothiriel warred with a desperate fear that it wouldn't matter, that Lisswyn was already dead. Or would be by the time he got to her.

He looked over, saw Elfhelm and Breghelm entering the room, and behind them, Eowyn and Faramir. The looks on their faces told him that they already knew what had happened.

"Thedhelm is mustering your guard," Elfhelm said. "Do you want me to go or stay here?"

His arm was still in a sling. Eomer had no doubt the older man could ride with only one hand, but fighting while on horseback might be a different matter. "Stay. Prince Imrahil and his men will be here to supplement your men in guarding the city, but it will be better for the people of Edoras if you and Eowyn are here as well."

He looked over at his sister, saw her lips pressed together. It was obvious she wanted to go, but she gave him an abrupt nod that she understood what he was asking of her, and why.

"The moon is nearly full." Faramir's voice was quiet. "That will aid in tracking them."

Their eyes met, and in the other man's eyes he saw grim determination, and some other emotion he couldn't quite identify. Imrahil was right about Faramir's tracking skills, and although Eomer was as familiar with the hills around Edoras as it was possible to be, the Prince of Ithilien's ranger skills might well make the difference.

"We will find them," Faramir said flatly.

Eomer nodded. Oh, yes. He had no intention of allowing Hunlaf to continue to threaten the people of Edoras. They would find him, no matter what. The question was whether it would be in time to save Lisswyn. "The sooner we can leave, the better," he said.

Eomer chafed with impatience as he prepared to mount Firefoot, as he watched the rest of his men mount. It took time to get men and horses ready for battle, and the delay frustrated him even though he understood its necessity.

Turning, he caught sight of Hilde, the two boys, and Brynwyn standing off to the side, watching. Lisswyn's family. The woman's eyes were dark with grief, the boys' expressions grim and sad, and the little girl's face was transparent with fear.

Every moment counted. He knew that, and yet he walked over to them, knelt in front of Brynwyn, allowed his gaze to touch all of them before settling on her. "I will bring her home." It was as much a promise to himself and to Lisswyn as to those standing in front of him. "Do you trust me?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her lip trembling though she did not cry. Then she slowly nodded her head. He reached out, squeezed her shoulder, then turned and sprang up onto Firefoot.

"Ride out!" he shouted.

As the riders began moving down the road through Edoras, he realized that many of the inhabitants of the city had turned out to watch them. That in itself wasn't unusual, but some of the women had tears in their eyes.

And then Ceolwyn shouted, "Ride fast, my lord! Bring her home safely!" and he understood that both the tears and the fear were for Lisswyn. She had more people who cared about her than she probably realized.

Aye. He would ride fast, would bring her home. And would make her his queen.

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter, as promised. Some of you had guessed what was going to happen, but hopefully there were a few unforeseen bits._ ;)  



	32. The Hunt

Eomer looked up at the sky and made a soft noise of frustration. Yes, there was a full moon, but there were clouds in the sky as well – clouds that kept obstructing the light. They'd made good time initially, but now, as they drew closer to the rocky area where the hills began, they were forced to go more slowly, or risk a horse stumbling.

"Tell me about the man we seek." Faramir's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, and Eomer glanced over at the other man. They'd spoken little during the first part of the ride, intent on fast riding.

His voice was tight with renewed fury when he answered. "He was head cook during my uncle's reign. No one liked him, as he was mean and suspicious. But he could cook, and thus was allowed a certain amount of autonomy – more and more as the years went by and my uncle slipped further under the spell of Saruman. I dismissed him not long ago after he threatened Lisswyn for doing nothing more than walking into the kitchen, and afterward it came out that he has long been abusing and terrifying the kitchen maids, and murdered one who was unfortunate enough to be carrying his child as a result of the abuse."

"I see."

There was a wealth of understanding in Faramir's words, and Eomer knew that the other man did, indeed, see clearly what was before them, and the danger Lisswyn was in.

Silence fell and for several long moments, they concentrated on picking their way among the rocks on the path.

"Eowyn indicated that you've long thought it possible that there was someone in Edoras betraying you to the orcs."

Eomer nodded grimly. "Yes, and it has occurred to me that working in the kitchen, Hunlaf had access to many of my plans – he certainly knew when I left to survey the villages in the west and the general direction in which I planned to go."

"But to what purpose did he betray you? What did he hope to gain? If you had died in that orc attack, Rohan would still have had a queen."

"That, I do not know. But he was appointed as head cook while Wormtongue was still in control. That may be the best answer to that question. The rest of the men the Worm had with him left when he did, but no one considered Hunlaf to be a threat. He was simply a tempermental cook who turned out decent meals."

Faramir nodded, and silence descended again. Eomer looked up, toward the dark hills in front of them. Where was Lisswyn? Was she yet alive? Gravely injured? Even now being raped? Fear for her shuddered through him.

* * *

She was cold, shivering from it. And the trembling made the various aches hurt worse. The ground she was lying on was cold, damp, and hard. But where was she? And why was she on the ground in the first place?

Confused, Lisswyn forced her eyes open, and immediately wished she hadn't as she saw the men standing near her. Memory rushed back, and she quickly closed her eyes, hoping none of them had realized she was awake.

Full darkness had fallen while she was unconscious, making it impossible to tell for sure, but Hunlaf appeared to have about a dozen men with him. What were they doing out here, lurking so close to Edoras?

Another shiver moved through her and she clamped down on the whimper that wanted to escape. Her head was aching, both where Hunlaf had struck her and where she'd landed against the boulder, but a far worse pain was in her shoulders. It took a moment to realize that her arms weren't hurting, that in fact, she couldn't feel them at all. They were bound behind her back, so tightly they'd gone numb, at an angle that was agonizing for her shoulders. She didn't miss the significance of the fact that they'd bound her cruelly – much tighter than was necessary to prevent her from trying to defend herself. And they'd bound her legs as well.

Fear and despair twisted inside her. It would be hours before anyone raised any kind of alarm about her disappearance, as no one was likely to look for her before the evening meal. Andric knew she'd left the city, but he wouldn't necessarily be in the great hall at the same time as anyone else who might be looking for her. Hilde and Brynwyn could be preparing for bed before anyone really missed her. And once they did, how long would it take them to ask Andric if he'd seen her?

Or, for that matter, even once someone came out to the hills to look for her, would they be able to find Hunlaf's trail?

She tried to push back the fear. Perhaps Andric had mentioned seeing her as soon as he got back to Edoras. But that still left open the question of how long they'd wait for her to return before someone became alarmed. Before they started searching for her.

The men were speaking quietly, and she had to strain to hear them, but she gradually became aware of what they were saying. Apparently, they'd traveled some distance up into the hills while she was unconscious, and were now taking a break. Discussing their plans. Arguing about what to do with her.

Some of them simply wanted to kill her, maintaining that they didn't have the time to guard her. Some of them wanted to keep her with them, and the rude laughter made it clear why. And at least one of them wanted to leave her for an animal to find, make it look as if her death had been accidental. The last suggestion was met with derision and accusations of cowardice.

"She's been awake for quite some time," Hunlaf finally said, a smirk in his voice. "Let's see what she wants us to do with her."

He stalked over, leaned down as if to grab her and Lisswyn flinched. She couldn't help it – she was already sore, and could only imagine more pain coming. But she immediately regretted the response, regretted letting him see how he affected her.

His laughter was mocking and cruel as he rolled her over, on to her back, forced more pressure onto her arms. "Maybe you can be trained to be useful after all."

Lisswyn just stared at him, tried to force defiance into her eyes. It was hard when she wanted to weep from the pain in her shoulders.

"We saw Gondor ride away. Where was he going?"

She still didn't respond, as much out of confusion as boldness. Gondor? Ah. He must mean King Elessar.

Hunlaf's gaze darkened, and he reached down, pulled out a knife he had strapped to his lower leg. It was long and very sharp, and he smiled at it before turning his gaze back to her. The smile remained, but was now malicious.

"Knives were always my favorite kitchen tool. They're so useful." He brought the knife down, skimmed it down her body to the binds on her legs. "For example, I could reward you by freeing your legs… if you tell me what I want to know." He brought the knife up, touched it against the tip of her breast. "Or I can cause you great pain, if you don't. Where did Gondor go?"

The question scared her, and not just because of the implied torture if she didn't answer him. She didn't understand his interest in what was going on in Edoras. Would it be a bad thing or a good thing to tell him what she knew, which wasn't much? Would it help or hinder him?

"I see," he said, and forced mock regret into his voice. "You're not going to make it easy on yourself. Why doesn't that surprise me?" He lifted the blade, sliced with it.

Terrified, Lisswyn waited for the pain. When it didn't come, she looked down, and realized with a sick relief that he had only made a small cut in her dress.

He brought the knife back to rest against the tear he'd made. "Next time I press harder."

"I don't know where he was going." Despite her best efforts, her voice shook.

The knife moved again, and this time she felt its sting. "You have one more chance to tell me something useful."

Fear of the knife was too great. Desperately hoping she wasn't saying something that would give him some sort of advantage, she blurted out, "He and his men left with some of the men from the city who were going out to fell trees to rebuild. I don't know what else he was looking for. I really don't."

"How many men from the city were with him?" The knife still hovered, but was no longer resting against her.

"About twenty, I think. I really don't know. I wasn't there when they left." She was babbling, and her cowardice shamed her.

He sat back on his heels, stared at her, malice in his eyes. "There can not be that many men left in the city then. No matter who he sends after you, or even if he comes himself, the number won't be more than we can handle."

With the tip of the knife, he poked her several times. Not hard, not truly enough to hurt, apparently more as another warning, or for his own amusement.

Another whimper of fear escaped her, and his smile reappeared. "Don't worry. No permanent damage has been done, and when we stop for the night, I'll apply first aid myself, and then let the rest of men make sure I did a good job." He laughed at that, and then stood, strolled back over to where the others waited.

Shaking, Lisswyn tried to roll back over, desperately wanting to relieve the pressure on her shoulders as well as to curl protectively around herself. For all the good it would do. After a moment, she succeeded in flopping over, wincing as she did so. And heard the men laughing at her feeble attempts to find a more comfortable position.

They were going to rape her. At the thought, bile rose, and she struggled to force it back down.

Despite her best efforts to keep them at bay, however, tears seeped out as she rested her face against the ground. For reasons not clear to her, the King thought her strong. His sister had told her so. And even knowing she might die without ever seeing him again, she wanted to know in her own mind that she'd been true to that perception of her. Had not yielded to the fear and horror. She blinked fiercely, succeeded in pushing the tears back.

She forced her mind away from what the men had planned for later, back to the conversation she'd had with Hunlaf.

And felt a grim smile tug at her lips.

Perhaps she had given Hunlaf more information than she should have by telling him the number of men who'd gone with King Elessar, resulting in his belief that the city was nearly empty of men. That very few of them would be available to search for her, or pose a threat to his group.

But she'd only answered his questions about King Elessar. She'd told him nothing of the arrival of the Princes of Ithilien and Dol Amroth.

* * *

Due to Andric's clear description, Eomer was able to lead them directly to the area where Lisswyn had been captured. Pausing outside the path that led to the clearing, he looked over at Faramir before turning to stare up at the hills rising up in front of them.

"What are you thinking?" Faramir quietly asked.

"I believe we'd make better time without the horses from here."

"But are not Hunlaf and his men mounted?"

"Yes. But the paths and trails through these hills are not particularly easy on horseback, and it's frequently quicker on foot. I also believe it will also be easier to track them if we're not mounted."

With a nod, Faramir acquiesced. "They are your hills. You know best. And you're correct about tracking being easier on foot."

So they dismounted, and after Eomer quickly assigned several men to guard the horses, they slipped up the path, he and Faramir in front, followed closely by the rest of their men.

As he'd expected, they almost immediately found the clearing where Lisswyn had been when Hunlaf found her. The ground bore the marks of both horses and men, and above them, he could see the rocky trail and overhang where Andric had been watching her.

And on the far side, between several boulders, the ground was littered with plants Lisswyn had apparently pulled out and been holding when Hunlaf grabbed her.

Without completely knowing why, Eomer knelt, gathered the plants. Using his sword, he sliced off a strip of his cloak, wrapped the small plants in it and tucked them inside his armor. Then, feeling a bit foolish, he turned back to them, defiance in his stance.

Knowing he had revealed his heart to the men around him, his eyes went first to Faramir.

But even in the small amount of light cast by the moon and their torches, he saw only compassion in the other man's eyes.

Faramir turned, motioned up the path. "Young Andric was correct. It looks as if there were about fifteen of them."

They started up the trail.

The moon was much higher in the sky when they paused as Faramir studied yet another point where the path diverged in several different directions.

"They're leading us in circles," Eomer murmured. None of the men were speaking more than absolutely necessary, knowing that they needed to be able to hear any chance sound from their quarry…and needed their quarry to not hear them.

Faramir didn't respond immediately, his head cocked, listening. Then he looked back at the ground, at the marks that he could somehow read as a trail, and nodded. "So it appears."

As the hills gave way to the mountains, there were many places where the main path would branch off, then rejoin the primary trail, and all along the way were caves and pockets of trees or bushes, some large enough to hold several men waiting to ambush them.

Their progress was slow, and Eomer restrained his impatience. They'd not found Lisswyn's body, maimed and discarded. That had been his first fear, that Hunlaf had captured her only to quickly decide to kill her. But the evening was now far gone, and even if Hunlaf was still on the move, even if he was nervous due to having no clear idea of how long it would be before someone came after them, he would stop at some point, and that was when the danger to Lisswyn would be greatest.

Faramir stood from where he'd been stooped, studying the ground, and once more led them up the path.

Moments later, he paused in a small clearing. As they had before, the men and Eomer stood near the entrance, so as not to disturb the foot and hoof prints. Faramir, holding his torch down close to the ground, looked carefully at the marks, then moved off to the side of the clearing, where he stood for long moments, studying the ground.

Glancing up, he motioned for Eomer to join him, and when he did, Faramir pointed the ground. "She lay here, I believe."

Eomer dropped his gaze to the ground, wondered how Faramir could tell anything from the disturbed dirt.

"I believe her hands are tied, though I can not tell whether in front or behind her." He glanced up, waited for Eomer to look at him. "They would not have tied her hands if she were dead, Eomer. I also do not believe it's been that long since they were here. They wasted much time trying to lead us astray in the lower hills."

At the words, Eomer felt hope move through him for the first time since Andric had entered his chamber, and impatient to leave, he turned, prepared to summon the men.

"Eomer."

He turned back to Faramir, unease sliding through him at the other man's bleak tone.

Faramir was once more kneeling next to the disturbed dirt, touching something Eomer couldn't see.

Eomer squatted next to him, and Faramir turned, examined his fingers in the light of the torch. When he looked back at Eomer, his expression was somber. "Blood."

Before Eomer could react, Faramir reached out, grabbed his shoulder. "It's a small amount. It may not signify anything serious."

"It's blood. Her blood." Eomer jerked away from him, stood. Furious, he stared down at where she'd laid. "It doesn't matter how much. He hurt her, or allowed her to be hurt." He looked up, in the direction Hunlaf and his men had gone, thought not only of Lisswyn but also of Tille and Lufe, then looked back at Faramir. "He's dead already," he said flatly.

Faramir nodded, hesitated as if he would speak, then turned instead to begin examining the exits from the clearing. As in other places, there were two of them, but the Prince appeared to be having greater difficulty in reading the tracks this time.

Eomer walked over to join him, and then waited as Faramir again bent down, examining first one path, then the other, a frown on his face.

"What? What is it?" There was both anxiety and impatience in his tone that he could not quite stifle. If Faramir lost the trail at this point…

"They split up here," the other man finally said, stepping back and looking at Eomer. "Two of them took the trail up, but they tried to cover the tracks, make the path look unused."

"Lisswyn and Hunlaf?"

"I do not believe so. Neither of the footprints belong to a woman, nor are they deep enough to indicate a man carrying extra weight."

"As if they were carrying her."

"Exactly." Faramir looked up the path that wound up more sharply, appearing to run above and parallel to the main trail. "Where does it go, do you know?"

"It's very rocky and steep, but there are places that would serve as an overlook, points where it's possible to see what's happening on the lower path. Perhaps someone has gone up to serve as a lookout. Hunlaf must know someone will come after him," he paused. "It would also be possible to organize an ambush from up there, though why he'd only send two men, I can't imagine."

Faramir studied the trails again, then looked at him. "If they've split up, perhaps we should as well."

Eomer's looked back at the main path, then slowly nodded. "The main one doesn't branch off as frequently from this point, so there's less chance of my losing their trail."

"Then I will take my men and follow the two who did not wish to be followed. If we move quickly, perhaps we can catch up with them, and persuade them to tell us their plans."

Eomer nodded, could only hope it would be that easy.

* * *

Lisswyn stumbled, caught herself before she fell. A quick glance showed that neither Hunlaf nor any of his men had seen her, and she swallowed with relief.

They'd unbound her legs earlier so she could walk, but a rope around her middle, held by Hunlaf, prevented her from running. That and Hunlaf's frequent demonstrations that he would use any excuse to punish her, both with his fists and his knife.

Beyond weary, she ached all over from the bruises and cuts he'd given her, but willingly continued to move forward. She'd heard some of the men grumbling, knew they were eager for a meal and to stop for the night. Were ready for the night's 'entertainment.'

There'd already been one fight over who got her immediately after Hunlaf. He'd broken up the fight, but had clearly been amused by it.

At least there were two fewer men who would be making camp with them. Earlier, Hunlaf had sent two of them up a side path, to serve as a lookout. He plainly didn't think they were being followed – at least not yet – but wasn't taking any chances.

The other men laughed when one of them made a coarse joke, obviously about her, and it took a moment for her to understand his meaning. When she did, embarrassment followed by dread moved through her. A bit desperately, she pushed the thoughts away. As long as they continued to move, there was hope that she would somehow be spared.

Although she couldn't quite bring herself to imagine that the King might have learned of her capture in time to rescue her before Hunlaf stopped for the night, that didn't prevent her from longing for him. From wishing for the sudden sound of horses coming up behind them.

Admitting the unlikeliness of that, her thoughts turned nearly as often to King Elessar. He and his men had headed into the hills. She didn't know exactly where, nor even the general direction, and in fact, it was probably nowhere near where she was. But the hope, small as it was, helped distract her, both from her weariness and pain, as well as from the fear.

As they entered a clearing, Hunlaf brought his horse to a halt, motioned for the other men to do the same, and Lisswyn's heart gave a hard knock, then speeded up as she waited for him to give the order to make camp.

Her legs were trembling, and she forced strength into them, determined to be courageous. But what did courage look like when you were about to be raped by an entire pack of men?

Would they untie her arms? If so, she might at least be able to put up a fight, even if she had no real hope of defending herself. If they didn't… She grimaced. If they didn't, the pain from the increased pressure on her shoulders might be sufficient to distract her from the rapes themselves.

The men were moving restlessly in their saddles, plainly wanting Hunlaf to speak. But he only held a hand up, motioned for silence.

Moments later, Lisswyn realized that more men were slipping quietly into the clearing on foot. Saying nothing, they stayed in the shadows. Several of Hunlaf's men shifted uneasily, but Hunlaf himself merely sat on his mount, waiting.

"You're late." The voice from the shadows was slurred somehow, and hard for her to understand.

Hunlaf jerked on the rope tied around Lisswyn's waist. "Something unexpected happened," he answered calmly.

The shadow snorted. "That why you're being followed?"

Tension descended on the group, a tangible thing. Lisswyn, too, held her breath, but for a different reason.

Without hurry, Hunlaf dismounted, tossed both his reins and the rope to one of his men, then moved into the shadows. "What did you see?" There was an underlying eagerness beneath the calm of his voice.

"Should have warned us there'd be blood tonight."

She sensed, rather than saw, Hunlaf's arm snap out, grab the man. "Answer me." His voice was no longer patient.

The shadow appeared to struggle against Hunlaf's hold for a moment, then sulkily said, "Men on foot. Coming up the path."

"Who? How many?"

"How should I know?" He jerked again, pulled away from Hunlaf's grip. "It was dark, and they all look alike. But they had the horselord's banner."

It took a moment for her to understand, and when she did, Lisswyn fought back tears of relief. It could only be the King. No one else would have his standard.

He and his men were somewhere not far behind them.

Hunlaf's men started murmuring, and Hunlaf stepped back out to the middle of the clearing.

"We should have disposed of her," one of the men said.

In the flickering light of the torches, Lisswyn saw Hunlaf glance at her, saw the smirk. "Why do you say that? Have we not been trying to rid the land of the House of Eorl for many months? And now, he's coming to us. Thanks to her."

Shock had her looking up. They'd been trying to kill the king? Even before Hunlaf's dismissal from the kitchen? Why?

There was more muttering from the men, and gradually she realized they were unhappy that the men Hunlaf had sent to serve as lookouts had not reported back in, indeed were not the ones reporting that they were being followed.

Hunlaf shrugged, though Lisswyn thought he wasn't as unconcerned as he appeared.

"They'll find us, and we can learn then the source of their delay. In the meantime, it's time we go on foot as well. If the King is coming after us, we need to arrange a suitable welcome for him." He threw back his head and laughed at the thought, then sobered before turning and motioning to three of his men. "Take the horses to the large storage cave and settle them there. That will allow us to move more quickly."

There was more grumbling at that, but it was mostly restrained as they dismounted. Within moments, the three men Hunlaf had designated tied the horses together and led them off down a side path.

Hunlaf watched them go, then taking the rope back, yanked Lisswyn to him so hard she stumbled.

With rough hands, he steadied her. "Careful, now," he said mockingly. "We still have a ways to go before we settle down for the night. But just think…if the King arrives on time, perhaps we'll let him watch our evening's entertainment." He laughed again, then shoved her before him.

Sickness curled in her stomach as she understood what he meant, but she shook it aside. He was underestimating the King's skill in battle. She didn't doubt that Hunlaf's men were capable, but they'd be no match for the King and his guard.

Cheered by the thought, she moved forward. As she did, she finally caught a glimpse of one of the men standing in the shadows: Tall, dark, rough.

Dunlendings. Wild men from the west.

They seldom left their land, but their hatred for the Eorlingas was strong, even more so after the lies Saruman had told them. Strong enough to join with Hunlaf and his men, and the orcs whom they equally despised, in making war on the Mark?

Possibly. But how many of them were there? And more to the point, how many men were with the King?

* * *

Eomer stared down at the tracks in frustration. They'd moved at a fast pace after splitting off from Faramir, the tracks of Hunlaf and his men so clear that they'd been easy to read even without a ranger's eyes. But now it appeared that the men had gone one direction and the horses another, and it disturbed him.

He was certain of what he was seeing, trusted both his eyes and his knowledge of horse tracks that far. What he didn't know was how many of the horses had borne riders. Why had they split up? And was Lisswyn with the group on horseback, or with the men who'd continued following the main trail? And which group was Hunlaf in?

If Hunlaf had had only a dozen or so men with him, as Andric had indicated and Faramir supported, and two of them had already taken the trail that Faramir had followed, then the loss of several more of them, at least, to take the horses elsewhere could only be good, as it further reduced their numbers.

He looked up the trail that the horses had followed. If he remembered correctly, it led to several large caves, and nowhere else. The path ended at the mouth of the caves. They must be using them to stable the horses. Did that mean they normally camped in this area?

Uneasily, he turned, gazed once more up the main path. Why leave the horses?

After another moment, he left the path the horses had taken and started up the trail after the men on foot. He could be making an error, one Lisswyn would pay for. But he couldn't imagine Hunlaf staying with the horses while the bulk of his men went elsewhere, nor could he imagine the man not keeping Lisswyn close to him. Hunlaf liked being in control too much.

His men followed him.

* * *

Eomer squatted, held the torch down so he could clearly see the tracks. Once again, the trail split, and this time it was clear that Hunlaf and all of his men had abandoned the main trail for a smaller path off to the side.

Standing, he studied the smaller path, then turned to Thedhelm, his eyes glinting.

The younger man wore a confused expression. "That path doesn't go anywhere. It dead ends in a ravine."

"He thinks me witless, or a fool," Eomer murmured. When Thedhelm didn't respond, he shook his head. "Remind me to have Eothain discuss strategy with you," he said dryly, before continuing. "It's a trap. He means to lie in wait for us at the Point."

The path Hunlaf had taken wound its way through a narrow canyon before ending in a ravine roughly shaped like the point of a spear. In the spring, when the snow melted in the mountains, water pooled in it before continuing its way out of the hills.

Now, however, it would be dry, and would make a good place to stage an ambush. The path itself was so narrow that in places it was impossible to walk other than in single file, and there were rocks and boulders large enough to hide behind within the ravine. And once trapped inside, there would be very little maneuvering room and no way to retreat, or even regroup, assuming that some of Hunlaf's men hid behind rocks and so wound up behind them.

Thedhelm looked at him. "And having fewer men would make less of a difference if your quarry was trapped and you had the advantage."

"Exactly." Eomer's eyes gleamed. "But he doesn't have the advantage."

At the younger man's questioning look, Eomer nodded in the direction of the main path. "In his arrogance, he's forgotten that I grew up in these hills."

* * *

_A/N: Yes, yes, I know. Another evil cliff-hanger. My apologies for that, truly. I'll do my best to post the next chapter by Sunday or Monday.  
_


	33. The Heart of the Horselord

From her position on the ground, next to the wall of the ravine, Lisswyn observed the argument taking place in front of her. The moon had disappeared behind some clouds, and the torches the men carried threw barely enough light to make out some shapes. But she could hear what was being said, even if she couldn't understand some of the Dunlendings.

But what she had been able to make out explained a great deal.

Hunlaf was in league with the Dunlendings, was, in fact, part Dunlending himself. Although generally the wild men simply burned villages and killed the inhabitants when attacking the Riddermark, they occasionally carried off the women. She'd never wondered what became of the children born of such violence, but it seemed that Hunlaf and most of his men fell into that category.

Apparently, Hunlaf despised the Dunlendings nearly as much as he did the Eorlingas. But he was still willing to cooperate with them if it meant the end of the Mark.

To her growing horror, it became clear that it wasn't only Dunlendings he was willing to work with – through them, Hunlaf had also been working with the orcs, coordinating the attacks at the caves and at Edoras. Furious at the thought of Maegwen and the village of her childhood, she struggled with her bonds, desperately wishing for a chance to avenge those she'd loved, even if it meant her death. But the bonds remained tight, and she slumped to the ground again, defeated.

But the King was on his way, was not far behind them. She comforted herself with the fact that justice for all those killed by Hunlaf or his minions was coming.

Indeed, that was the source of the argument. The Dunlendings weren't comfortable with the current plan to ambush the King, and neither were some of Hunlaf's men, who were still nervous over the disappearance of the two spies. While it was clear that they all wanted the King dead, they were uneasy about attacking him in the dark, when they weren't sure of how many men he had with him. And the distrust between Hunlaf's men and the Dunlendings complicated things further.

As they argued, it became clear that the original plan had been to attack Edoras, before the gates were rehung and while King Elessar and his men were away from the city. That explained why Hunlaf had been so intent on discovering the exact number of men who'd left and where they'd gone.

"They're coming!" One of Hunlaf's men, positioned out on the narrow path, came through the entrance to the ravine at a run, interrupting the debate.

"That settles the matter," Hunlaf said. "It is too late to choose another option. Get in position." With that, he stalked over, grabbed Lisswyn and hauled her up. "Your king is will shortly be setting out to the halls of his fathers," he whispered to her gleefully.

Turning, he put Lisswyn in front of him, facing the entrance to the ravine, his knife at her throat.

Her heart pounding, she tried not to move, not to twitch, not even to swallow. The knife was sharp, and he'd already proven a willingness to use it.

She tried to distract herself by focusing on the entrance to the ravine. The King was out there somewhere, engaged in battle. Any moment now, he'd come through that opening, and this nightmare would begin to be over. She refused to contemplate any other scenario than that Hunlaf would die. His hatred might give him strength, but he would still be no match for the King in battle. He'd spent too many years running a kitchen.

A new thought occurred to her as she studied the entrance to the ravine. It was too narrow for more than one man to pass through it at once. Who would she see first? The King? Or a member of his guard? She couldn't imagine any of them allowing him to go first in such a situation, but nor could she imagine the King cooperating with one of his guards going ahead of him.

"Let her go, Hunlaf."

The words were so softly spoken that for a moment, she thought she was dreaming. Then Hunlaf reacted, spinning around, jerking her with him.

The King and some of his men were standing behind them, to the left of their position, but Lisswyn was unable to enjoy that fact – she could feel Hunlaf's tension, his agitation at being surprised, and her throat stung where the knife had nicked her as he'd spun her around. She'd really rather not be beheaded right in front of the King.

"How did you get here?" Hunlaf demanded.

The King flicked a glance at Lisswyn before focusing on Hunlaf. "I played in these hills as a boy. They hold no secrets for me." With a jerk of his head, he motioned above and behind him.

The clouds had parted again, and in the moonlight she could see that what had looked like merely a rough outcropping in the rock was actually a tunnel, the pile of rocks below it serving as a stair down to the floor of the ravine.

"You are still outnumbered," Hunlaf said, clearly frustrated.

It was true, and Lisswyn felt dread creep in as for the first time, the thought occurred to her that the King and his men could suffer injury, or even death, trying to rescue her. Some – perhaps most – of his men were obviously engaged in battle with the Dunlendings in the outer area of the ravine, but even with the men Hunlaf had sent with the horses and the missing spies, the men who remained with him, plus some of the wild men, seemed to outnumber the number of men standing with the King.

Fear slid through her at the thought, but was then banished as she glanced again at the tunnel the King had come through. He'd known he was outnumbered before he'd revealed himself.

The King's eyes raked over Hunlaf's men before turning back to them. "Numbers don't always determine the outcome of battle, Hunlaf. My men fought with courage before the Black Gates."

At that, there were angry mutterings from Hunlaf's men, who hadn't missed the insult in the words. Still locked in the same position against Hunlaf, Lisswyn heard, rather than saw, their movement toward the King and his men.

"Be still," Hunlaf ordered.

The movement stopped, but the complaints, ignored by both Hunlaf and the King, continued.

"If your courage is so great, why hide behind a woman, when it is me you want?"

"Oh, you're wrong, there, Eomer," Hunlaf responded, his casual use of the King's name a deliberate insult. "I want her very much." At that, he ran his free hand over Lisswyn's breasts in a familiar manner, squeezed them, then roughly stroked down her body.

Lisswyn closed her eyes as waves of humiliation at being touched in such a way before the King and his men rolled over her.

"Hunlaf." The King's voice was soft, but even with her eyes closed in shame, she heard the danger in it. "Let her go."

Again, the memory of Eowyn telling her that the King thought her strong crossed her mind. She still didn't completely understand what he meant by that, but she very much wanted to live up to it, to his view of her. She forced her eyes back open, and saw him watching her, both fear and temper evident in his gaze.

The more distracted he was by worry for her, the harder it would be for him to focus on Hunlaf. Understanding that, she raised her chin a notch and stiffened her shoulders. Smoothing the fear off her face, she looked steadily and calmly at the King.

He looked away from her, back to Hunlaf. "Let her go," he repeated.

Hunlaf chuckled. "What will you do if I don't? If you start toward me, the knife at her throat might slip. No, I'm afraid you're not the one giving orders here."

"If you harm her, your death will be as painful as I can make it."

"Yes, yes, of course. What a tedious threat – as if you wouldn't try to kill me in a painful manner if I did let her go," Hunlaf responded. "Essentially, we're at a standoff. You can't approach me without risking her, and are outnumbered in the bargain. I'd rather not stay in this position all night, because I have other positions I plan to be in," he laughed, his hand once more roaming. "I could let her go," he continued thoughtfully, "and fight you, me against you, your men against mine, but that wouldn't be a fair fight since you believe your men to be superior to mine."

"Hunlaf—"

"I know," Hunlaf interrupted him. "We'll just have to even the odds and provide some amusement for me and my men at the same time."

"What are you talking about?" There was a wealth of anger and frustration in the King's tone.

"Order your men to put down their weapons." There was no response, and Hunlaf moved the knife slightly, sliced into the top of her arm with it. Another shallow cut that that Lisswyn barely registered, to go with the others he'd given her. A warning cut. "Do it now."

With the knife away from her throat for a moment, spoke. "No. You mustn't." They must not increase their vulnerability.

"Shut up." Hunlaf brought the knife to her face. "The next cut disfigures her. Give the order."

"Do it." The king's voice was tight.

Lisswyn stifled a noise of frustration and despair as she watched the men with the King lower their weapons to the ground.

At a jerk of Hunlaf's head, some of his men moved forward, started collecting the weapons.

"I've done as you asked. Let her go."

"Not quite enough. There's one more thing."

A growl from the King was the only response.

"Beg me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Put down your sword, kneel in the dirt and beg me to let her go."

Despite the knife, Lisswyn began to struggle. No. He must not. She couldn't bear it.

"Lisswyn." The King's voice was quiet. Firm.

She looked at him, tears welling despite her resolution to show no weakness. "Don't," she whispered.

He gazed at her steadily for a long moment before following his men and lowering his sword to the ground, the hilt facing away from him. Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, he knelt, looked up at Hunlaf. "I'm doing as you ask. I'm begging you. Let her go. Please."

The look in his eyes made her throat ache, and she was nearly strangling on tears she refused to let fall. How could he do such a thing?

Hunlaf didn't respond, and she gradually became aware of the tension in his body, the absolute quiet in the ravine.

And understood why.

Hunlaf had plainly thought to humble the King by his demand. But even kneeling there, pleading for her life, the King's essential strength and courage were evident to everyone in the ravine.

"Hunlaf." Although he still knelt, the King's voice was now tight, full of warning.

"Give me Rohan, and I'll let her go."

Dumbstruck, Lisswyn could only stare at the King, wonder how he would respond to the new demand. He was already exhibiting more patience than she would have expected of him. Watching him, she saw sorrow and despair come into his eyes as they met hers. "That I cannot do," he said wearily.

"Well, well," Hunlaf responded, then addressed Lisswyn. "It looks like there are limits to his affection for you, after all."

The pain in the King's eyes spoke for him, and again, she wanted to weep at what she saw there. Instead, she cleared her throat, and said, "The Riddermark is not his to give away."

"Oh?" Hunlaf sneered. "Has someone else been made King?"

He'd addressed the question to both of them, so Lisswyn responded. "He rules over us because we long ago swore an oath of allegiance and fealty to Eorl. Anyone who thinks to rule in his stead would have to be worthy of that same loyalty."

"You misunderstand the Eorlingas people," The King added in a quiet voice. "That loyalty is not mine to trade away, even to save the life of someone else."

Hunlaf snorted. "Peasants. They will do what they're told."

The King shook his head. "You're wrong. Eorlingas are strong and proud. They will never serve a liar, will never let themselves be ruled by you. You will face a war you cannot win."

"Liar?" Hunlaf appeared to force a false confusion into his voice. "Ah. You call me that because I increased my demands. But I hadn't promised to let her go, you see. And as to a war…" she felt him shrug. "If you and your sister are dead, and Edoras destroyed, I won't need to fight a war. Your 'strong and proud' people will do that for me, as the clans fight amongst themselves. All I will have to do is take what I want. What is my due."

As he was speaking, Lisswyn glanced around the ravine. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the three of them, with Hunlaf's men apparently more interested in what he was saying than in guarding the King's men. Did they assume the King's guard to be of no threat to them without their weapons? Fools.

Tension was rising, as everyone realized the current circumstances could not last long. There were several possibilities as to what could happen next. Hunlaf could order one of his men to kill the King while they watched. A terrifying thought, but not a likely one. Hunlaf would gain more in status before his men if he were the one to kill the King. But that mean he'd have to release Lisswyn.

She looked back at the King, saw his gaze was focused on the knife at her throat. That made sense, as his best chance when Hunlaf moved to attack would be to gain control of the knife. But he knew nothing of the second blade she'd seen Hunlaf slip into his boot earlier. The thought made her frown. How to warn him?

"Your due?" The King flicked his eyes from the knife back up, apparently wanting Hunlaf to continue talking even while he continued to consider his options.

"Your precious Eorlingas blood runs in my veins, too, for all the good it ever did me." He spat the words out.

"Perhaps that had as much to do with your actions as with my people," the King replied mildly, his gaze still flicking from Hunlaf to the knife, to the others in the ravine.

Lisswyn stared hard at him, and after a moment was rewarded when his eyes met hers. Deliberately, she shifted her legs as if growing tired of her position. Hunlaf didn't react, so she carefully brought her right foot up, did her best to motion to his boot with it, all without moving her upper body.

Two things happened. Understanding showed in the King's eyes, and Hunlaf tightened his grasp on her. "Stop twitching."

"So what happens next, Hunlaf?" The King sounded vaguely bored. "Shall we stay this way all night?"

Hunlaf shifted again, and based on the increasing rigidity in his body, she knew the King's taunt had had its desired effect. Guessing what was about to happen, she murmured, "Sire." Desperately hoped it would be enough.

The King looked at her, and she saw awareness come into his gaze when she flicked her eyes toward Hunlaf in an attempt to warn him of what she suspected.

With a roar, Hunlaf suddenly tossed her aside, launched himself at the King. Lisswyn staggered, tried to stay on her feet, but she was off balance due to her arms being bound and the way he'd shoved her, and she stumbled. Twisting her body as she fell to keep her weight off her arms, she succeeded, but felt the air explode from her body as she landed.

Dazed, she struggled to find a position in which she could see through the shadows. What was happening?

* * *

Eomer hadn't known exactly what Lisswyn was trying to tell him, but the urgency in her voice had served its purpose, had warned him to renew his vigilance, to expect Hunlaf to take action of some sort. 

Kneeling, his sword facing away from him, he was at a disadvantage when Hunlaf lunged at him – as the other man had obviously intended. The only thing left to do, then, was to turn the disadvantage into an advantage. He hit the ground, rolled away, kicking the sword as he did so.

He'd carried Guthwine for many years, knew exactly how much it weighed, how the weight was distributed. Knew that a kick aimed at a particular point would spin the hilt back to him rather than sending the blade flying across the floor of the ravine.

But in his rage, Hunlaf was quicker than he'd anticipated, was on him before Eomer could reach for the sword. He deflected Hunlaf's knife, narrowly missed feeling its sting across his face. Frustrated that he couldn't get to his blade, he rolled again, swung out with his feet, had the satisfaction of seeing Hunlaf trip over them and fall.

Too late, he realized the danger as Hunlaf fell towards him, the knife still in his hand. Eomer tried to duck, to roll again, but still felt the knife scrape across his armor, the force of Hunlaf's fall giving the weapon enough force that it succeeded in penetrating his mail, nicking his shoulder as it slid off his armor.

It wasn't a deep cut – the mail saw to that – but it stung, and annoyed him, as did Hunlaf's crow of laughter.

His eyes never leaving the other man, he jumped to his feet, watched as Hunlaf scrambled to his, the knife still held in front of him. Eomer needed Guthwine, but didn't dare look away from Hunlaf long enough to see where it was.

The other man moved forward, then back, taunting him with the blade.

"It's hard to be a warrior without a weapon, isn't it? Mine may not have a fancy name, but it's sharp," he mocked. "Just check the way it's sliced into your woman. And even better, my weapon is still in my hand."

He darted forward, made a stab at Eomer's unprotected neck. Eomer deflected it, grabbed for the knife.

And missed, much to Hunlaf's amusement. "Not much of a fighter without that sword of yours, are you, horseman?"

Eomer refused to be baited, kept his eyes on the other man.

The sounds around him told him that Hunlaf's attack had signaled his men to attack the Eorlingas, and battle was now raging throughout the ravine. To his relief, it sounded as if at least some of his men had managed to regain their weapons.

Hunlaf leaped forward again, and this time, Eomer succeeded in grabbing the other man's wrist. Hunlaf was no warrior, but he was both quicker and stronger than Eomer would have given him credit for, and it took all of Eomer's own strength to force his arm down. To twist his wrist until, with a howl of pain, Hunlaf released the knife.

With his eyes still fixed on Hunlaf, Eomer weighed the knife in his hand. Pondered his options now that he had a weapon. Thanks to Lisswyn, he was nearly certain that the other man had a second weapon tucked in his right boot. It might not be so, of course – it was possible that that movement on her part had meant nothing more than that her leg was stiff and she wanted to stretch it. But it had seemed too deliberate to be anything other than a warning.

It was enough of one that he continued standing back, watching Hunlaf and waiting for him to take the next move rather than moving forward and pressing an attack. Best to wait and see.

His gaze never leaving Eomer, Hunlaf bent over, reached down. When he stood, his eyes were glittering with hatred, a malicious smile was on his face, and in his hand was the expected knife. "Unlike you, I'm not so easily disarmed."

Eomer spoke for the first time. "I'm no longer weaponless."

"I will soon correct that."

"Arrogance is a weakness, Hunlaf." The other man's eyes and body position shouted loudly what his next move would be, allowing Eomer to easily duck out of the way as Hunlaf once more tried to get close enough to stab him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eomer saw one of Hunlaf's men suddenly turn toward them, as if realizing that Hunlaf could use some help. Eomer doubted that it was out of loyalty so much as a desire to be the man who killed the Mark's king.

Unfortunately, it was possible he might succeed. Unlike Hunlaf, the other man had a sword, which, in conjunction with Hunlaf and his knife, changed the odds somewhat.

Grimly, Eomer tightened, then deliberately loosened his grip. He had to defeat them, and quickly. Hopefully, once Hunlaf was dead, the rest of his men would panic and be easier to defeat.

With little warning, the man charged, sword at the ready. Eomer ducked and spun away while noting that Hunlaf, proud though he was, apparently had no problems at all accepting help in killing his enemies. Even as Hunlaf turned again on Eomer, he was calling out encouragement to the other man.

Surprised that Hunlaf was willing to give up being the one to kill him, Eomer jumped back again, out of the way of the sword. Attempting to keep an eye on Hunlaf, he tried to assess the swordsman's skills. Could he get the sword away from him?

He didn't have to. So suddenly it took even Eomer a moment to grasp it, his opponent suddenly gave a shocked cry and fell, an arrow in his neck.

Eomer immediately turned his whole focus back to Hunlaf. He thought of trying to grab the dead man's sword, but didn't dare look away long enough to do so.

"Difficult to fight with arrows in such a small space, Eomer. I admire your men for making the attempt. Of course, I notice that you don't seem to be carrying a bow."

Eomer didn't correct the other man's assumption. "We all have our preferred weapons."

"But you're still without yours."

Around them, Eomer noted the changing tone of the battle, knew other men were falling to arrows from Gondor. Hunlaf didn't seem aware of that fact. Or was it that he didn't care?

Hunlaf, who'd been further from him due to the other man's attack, suddenly charged him again, and Eomer got the opportunity that he'd been waiting for as the other man lifted his arm to aim the knife, fully exposed himself.

A barest moment later, before he could carry through his attack, Hunlaf looked down, shocked, as the knife Eomer had just been holding buried itself in his chest.

He stumbled, fell to his knees even as Eomer grabbed the other knife from him, knocked him over on his back.

"Horsemen have as much skill with aiming a spear as with a sword, Hunlaf. Too bad you didn't learn more of our ways while hiding in the kitchens."

He yanked the knife out, saw confusion come into the other man's stunned and pain-filled glaze. He thought of Lisswyn, the blood he'd seen on her, the way Hunlaf had handled her. Then thought of Tille, and Lufe. And shoved the knife back into his midsection.

Hunlaf gave a sharp, choked cry of pain, and thrashed around, apparently trying to reach for the knife. Eomer knocked his hand away, and leaned forward. "Speaking of the kitchens, Hunlaf – you'll be pleased to know that Tille is running them better than you ever managed. This is for her, and for all the others." And dragged the knife up, twisting it.

Ignoring Hunlaf's scream of agony, he yanked it out once more, and this time, tossed it across the ravine.

Standing, he looked down at the writhing form at his feet. "Perhaps if you're fortunate, one of the other men will take pity on you and finish you. I think of how you murdered a kitchen maid – and your own child – and find I have none to spare."

Glancing around, he confirmed what his instincts had told him – the battle was over, ended by the timely arrival of Faramir and his archers, shooting from the lip of the ravine.

Spying Guthwine lying nearby, he moved to pick up the sword as he located Faramir in the midst of the men. Satisfied that the Prince was directing both groups of men in assisting the injured, he turned to Lisswyn.

She was lying face down, and for a moment he feared that Hunlaf had seriously injured her when he tossed her aside. Then, even as he crossed over to her, he saw her shift and turn her head, plainly trying to see what was going on.

He knelt beside her, reached for her, only to have her flinch from him. He halted, sickness spreading through him. What had Hunlaf done to her?

She twisted further, managed to look up at him. "My arms."

Relieved that the flinch was really due to him, he brought his sword up, moved to cut the bonds. "I'll be careful." The rope was tied tightly – much more so than necessary – and it was harder than he'd expected it to be to sever the ropes without cutting her. He suppressed his fury. Hunlaf was dead.

Finally, the bonds were cut, and he moved to help her sit up, only to stop when she gave a sharp cry of pain.

She pulled her knees up, pressed her face against them, her arms apparently useless at her sides. Pain radiated off her.

"Lisswyn?"

Her face still down, she said tightly, "My arms have been numb for hours."

Grimly, he reached forward, began to rub briskly. Tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath and her efforts to pull away from him. "I know. It makes it hurt worse, but it will only be a moment."

When he felt her relax, he stopped rubbing, but left his hands on her arms, needing to touch her. "Better?"

She nodded, slowly pulled her arms in toward her, in a protective gesture. She was once again curled into herself, her head resting on her knees.

Eomer glanced up. He had to get her away from here. Looking toward the main exit out of the ravine, he saw Thedhelm and motioned the other man over. "What's the status on the path through the canyon?"

"Secured and cleared. One of Prince Faramir's men is building a fire in the clearing."

Grateful, Eomer nodded. There was a point midway through the canyon where it widened and a small waterfall trickled down, even during dry periods. It would be a good place to regroup and check the wounds of the men who'd been injured before they set out for the return trip to Edoras.

"Men have also gone to find Hunlaf's horses and the men who are keeping them, as well as to the head of the trail to bring the horses of the men who are injured." His eyes flicked down to Lisswyn, and when he looked back up, they were full of compassion. "They are also bringing Firefoot."

"Good." It would still be easier for most of the men to travel back down the path on foot, but the injured riders would obviously do better mounted, as would Lisswyn.

His hand resting on her shoulder, he discovered that she was shivering, and for the first time realized she was wearing only a lightweight dress. The late autumn day had been unusually warm when she'd set out from Edoras, but that was no longer true.

Bending, he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the noise of distress or pain she made. Moving quickly, and ignoring the sting in his own arm that Hunlaf had given him, he headed out of the ravine, Thedhelm behind him.

When he arrived at the clearing, he was relieved to see that Faramir's man had not built just one fire, but several, and one was in an out of the way corner. That was where he headed, grateful he could offer Lisswyn at least a pretense of privacy.

Somewhat reluctantly – it was good to have her in his arms – he settled her on the ground between the fire and the wall of the canyon. Even in front of the fire, she was shivering, and he regretted not having anything to cover her with. His cloak was back where the trail had split, as it would have been a liability in battle.

"Thedhelm...send someone down the trail to where I left my cloak, and bring it back for me, as quickly as possible."

Thedhelm nodded and hurried away, and Eomer sat down behind Lisswyn, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her to him, hoping his body heat would help the fire in warming her.

Relief made him dizzy when she relaxed, leaned back against him. For a long moment, they were both silent.

"How did you know to come after me?" she finally asked. Her normal tone when she asked the question relieved him. Maybe she was all right.

"Andric."

She turned in his arms, looked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. "I sent him back to Edoras."

"Did you really think he'd go, when he saw you'd been weeping?"

As soon as the question left his mouth, he regretted it. There was a flash of pain in her eyes, then they went flat. Empty. She turned her head, looked back toward the fire, and very carefully shifted her body away from him.

His question had reminded of her of why she'd left Edoras in the first place, and whatever it was, it still had the power to hurt her, even given what had happened with Hunlaf. Worse, her pulling away from him confirmed what he had feared on some level, that he was the source of her tears.

Frustrated because he could think of nothing he'd done, his words were sharper than he'd intended when he asked, "Why were you crying?"

She didn't answer him for a long time, and his impatience grew. How could he fix it if she wouldn't tell him what was wrong?

Finally, though, she turned back to him, and his heart ached at the despair in her eyes. "You are to wed the Princess of Dol Amroth. The women are all saying so."

Dumbstruck, he simply stared at her. Then anger replaced the shock, and he had to stand, to pace away from her. Why? How? How could people discuss something that didn't exist? Why couldn't they have just waited? Aware that he was making no sense, even to himself, he turned the anger back to his own actions. Why hadn't he foreseen such a thing? He knew people could create gossip out of nothing, why hadn't he anticipated this? In trying to protect Lothiriel, he'd left Lisswyn vulnerable, even knowing how gossip-prone people were. He should have told her how he felt, why he was delaying.

A new thought occurred to him. He hadn't been able to finish his conversation with Imrahil. Was the gossip an indication that the Prince had truly believed, for whatever reason, that a betrothal was imminent? Perhaps he'd spoken of it to Lothiriel or one of her brothers, and the servants had heard?

It no longer mattered. It might be weak and dishonorable of him, but during the long hours of tracking Hunlaf, of fearing that he would find Lisswyn dead, he'd realized that no matter what the repercussions were for his relationship with Imrahil and Dol Amroth, he would not marry Lothiriel. Could not do so. And while he hoped that the Prince would yet see that in refusing to do so, Eomer was thinking also of the Princess, the result would be the same. He would not marry her.

"I'm sorry." At Lisswyn's quiet words, he turned, confused, and stared at her. Her expression was once more empty. Neutral. She was trying to hide her hurt from him, and that only increased the ache in his own heart.

Then her words penetrated. Sorry for what?

"It was foolish of me to react so. It is not as if…" her words faltered, and she blushed, looked away before beginning again. "It was foolish of me to have left Edoras as I did, though I believed it would be safe so close to the city. I'm sorry for the trouble it caused."

He stared at her, confused. Did she truly not know of his feelings for her? She was now looking away, into the fire, her position once more a defensive one, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself.

Crossing to her, he sat down next to her, facing her. She was still staring into the fire as if it were something truly fascinating. Not a good sign. "Lisswyn…" this was not how he'd wanted to do this. In his mind, he'd always imagined being somewhere quiet and completely private, not with soldiers nearby. Somewhere romantic, not a battle camp.

"Please look at me," he said.

She did, somewhat reluctantly, her face once more expressionless.

He reached out, gently pulled one of her hands away from her body. Her wrist was rubbed raw by the rope, and anger surged again at what she'd been through. Hunlaf had been the instrument, but it had been his fault. If he'd only told her how he felt earlier…

"Sire," she tugged on her hand until she realized he wasn't going to let her go. Giving up, she finally let it lay passively in his. "Please…we do not need to talk about it."

He looked up at her, saw she was afraid he was going to discuss his betrothal to Lothiriel. Still, he hesitated, an uncharacteristic nervousness plucking at him. In his mind, it had always been so simple to tell her how he felt. But the words weren't coming now when he needed them the most.

She was once more staring into the fire, and he saw that she was fighting tears.

Say something, man. Don't leave her like this.

"I have met the Princess of Dol Amroth," he finally began, and knew when she once more tugged on her hand that she was misunderstanding what he was going to say. He gripped her hand harder, and continued. "She is a lovely and gracious woman who would honor any man she wed." One of the tears fell, and he cursed himself. What was he thinking, starting the conversation with praise of another woman?

He reached over, turned her to face him, gripped her chin in his fingers. "And I have met another woman. She is brave and beautiful…and has held my heart in her hands since the day she went into a hopeless battle merely to give her friends a better chance of survival." He stopped, at a loss. She was staring at him, as if she couldn't quite take it in, but her fingers trembled and it gave him courage. "I love you," he said quietly. "And I need you."

Another tear fell, and before he could wipe it away, she pulled away from his hold on her chin to do so herself. She closed her eyes for a moment, bowed her head, and his heart sank. Was it possible he'd misjudged her feelings? That she didn't love him? He was about to release her hand, to let her go, when she looked up at him again. Her expression was serious, but there was something else there, too.

"I am not of noble birth."

It took a moment to digest the words, and when he did, relief rolled through him. He understood her concern, but at least she wasn't rejecting him out of hand.

"Most of our people value nobility of character more than anything else. The people of Edoras admire and respect you. And Eowyn already considers you a sister." He paused, struggled for the right words, remembered Aragorn's warning that Lisswyn might love him but not the idea of being queen. "It is not an easy thing I ask of you," he said. "And all I have to offer you in exchange is myself."

Her eyes softened, but to his surprise, her lips twitched with amusement. Before he could demand to know what was so funny, she said, "You haven't actually asked me anything yet."

He stared at her for a long moment, then laughed, her eyes telling him what he needed to know despite her humor.

Reaching forward, he gathered to him, buried his face in her hair until their laughter faded. Then he pulled back a little, tilted her chin up. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "I am king, will fulfill that role to the best of my ability because it is my duty. But I believe I will do it better, and find more joy in the doing, if you are by my side, as my queen. Will you?"

Her fingers came up, lightly touched his cheek, her eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall. She said nothing for a long moment, simply studied him, but then finally, she took a deep breath and smiled hesitantly. "I can not imagine what manner of queen I will be," she murmured. "But I will love the King of the Mark with all my heart."

Relief and joy poured through him as he tried to find a response. Before he could do so, she slipped her hand around the back of his neck, pulled his head down and lightly kissed him. Then leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a weak laugh. "I must be completely mad."

He hugged her. "Then we will be mad together." Serious once more, he pulled away, looked at her. "I know it won't always be easy, but we will make it work," he said firmly. "And what I said about the people of Edoras is true. The riders have been telling me how the people refer to you, to your willingness to do whatever needs to be done, to help anyone who needs it. To your courage." He smiled, touched her face with his fingers. "And that will only be truer after word of what occurred tonight spreads."

"What do you mean?"

"You looked very …queenly standing there, explaining the loyalty of our people to the house of Eorl while his knife was at your neck. It would have been reasonable for you to be stuttering with terror, but you appeared as calm as could be." His fingers slid down, lightly traced the shallow cut on her throat.

She shook her head. "That wasn't courage. It was your presence there."

Fierce emotion threatened to break free at her words, but he held it back, leaned down to rest his head against hers. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Still, all that the men saw was your quiet courage, and that's what they'll report back to others."

She blushed and looked away. "Let's just hope they keep feeling that way," she muttered.

He laughed again at her tone, unable to help himself. When had he felt this happy?

A new thought occurred to him. "Lisswyn," he said quietly. At her look, he smiled, traced her lips with his finger. "I have never heard you say my name."

She looked startled for a moment, then gave him another impish smile. "Yes, sire?"

He growled at her, and she laughed. Then the laughter faded, was replaced by a look of tenderness. "Eomer."

In response, he leaned down, and aware of the bruises on her face, kissed her gently but thoroughly.

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter, as promised. It's very long, but these two scenes needed to be together, I think. I hope everyone enjoyed the resolutions, and that the chapter was worth waiting for (and worth all the screaming into pillows and closets). And in case you're wondering, yes, there are still a few more chapters to go, as there are several loose ends yet to be dealt with. :)_

_A/N 2: This is an updated version of the chapter, with two changes from what I posted earlier this afternoon. :)_

_  
_


	34. Faramir

Lisswyn woke, disoriented. She was on the ground, on her side, before a fire.

Hunlaf.

No. That wasn't right. Hunlaf was dead. She was safe. With the King.

More memories surfaced, of both her kidnapping and her rescue, and she relaxed further. She was in the King's camp, encircled by both his guard and riders from Ithilien, and the King himself was stretched out behind her, one arm around her waist. Wrapped in his cloak and positioned between him and the fire, she was warm for the first time in hours. His scent, comforting even when mingled with those of battle, surrounded her.

The King.

_Eomer. _

He'd told her he loved her. Asked her to be his queen. Thrill at the first thought tangled with nerves at the second. It wouldn't be easy. But there were very few easy lives. And his love, the depth of his love, changed everything.

He'd knelt before Hunlaf, begged for her life. Recalling the look in his eyes when he'd done so stirred her heart, and she trembled in response.

He shifted, and she realized he wasn't asleep, as she'd assumed.

"Thedhelm," he said softly. "She's still cold. Would you stir the fire?"

It took her a moment to realize that he had misinterpreted her shiver. Even as Thedhelm moved to put another branch on the fire, she shifted, rolled over to look up at him.

"I'm fine." She smiled as she said it. In the firelight, his eyes were so dark. So worried.

"You're shivering."

"With reaction, not cold."

His arm tightened around her. "You are also quite safe."

He thought she was still afraid. Of Hunlaf's men, or some other threat. She slipped her hand out of the cloak she was wrapped in, cupped his cheek. His primary duty would always be the safety and well-being of the Riddermark, including her. As queen, she would no doubt have many duties as well, but her first and foremost priority would be him. Doing all in her power to care for him. To support him. To love him. "It was a good shiver," she finally said.

At his puzzled look, she slipped her hand around to the back of his head, pulled him down for a kiss. "I was just thinking about how much I love the King of the Mark," she murmured.

Pleasure shot through his eyes, and he smiled in response before leaning down to nuzzle her cheek. "Try to get some more sleep. We'll be leaving for Edoras soon."

She didn't want to sleep. She wanted to continue savoring the wonder of lying next to him, secure in his love – and in the knowledge that he was hers to love in return. But against her will, her eyes drifted shut, her exhausted body demanding rest.

It didn't seem that much later when she awoke again, to sounds of renewed activity in the camp. She immediately realized the King – how long would it take before she thought of him as Eomer? – was no longer behind her, and she mourned the loss. Then she heard his voice, heard him giving instructions to his men. They were preparing to leave.

Rolling over, she sat up, wincing as various injuries ached and throbbed. Ignoring them, she looked around. The fires had been put out, which explained why she was once more chilled. Pulling the cloak closer to her, she managed to stumble to her feet, still feeling decidedly weary and uncoordinated.

"Lisswyn!" The King was suddenly there, steadying her.

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly.

He leaned down, kissed the top of her head. "I can see that," he said in a dry voice. Scooping her up, he turned, settled her on Firefoot, then smoothly mounted behind her, pulled her close.

She relaxed back against him with a sigh. Due to her skirts, she was once again riding sidesaddle, and while it wasn't her favorite riding position, it did allow her to curl against him.

Traveling single file, they were moving out of the clearing, back onto the main trail, and she couldn't quite suppress a shudder at the memory of walking the other direction along it, bound to Hunlaf.

Eomer's arm tightened around her. "I'm sorry I don't have anything else to warm you with."

He'd again misunderstood. "I'm fine," she said. "I was just remembering going the other way along this path." Before he could respond, she changed the subject. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Oftentimes, there is a grain of truth behind gossip." She hesitated, wondering if he'd understand what was behind the question she could not quite figure out how to ask.

"You're wondering about the Princess of Dol Amroth."

"Forgive me if it's none of my business."

"I'd say it is very much your business." There was a pause as they navigated a particularly rocky part of the trail. "For my part, there wasn't much to it. I need to marry – the Riddermark needs an heir. Faramir thought that the princess and I might suit and thus she and I met at Aragorn's coronation. Love wasn't a factor in it," he continued softly, "though I hoped if we did wed that we would find love. But then I found you instead—or rather, you found me," there was amusement in his voice as he finished and leaned down to press a kiss against her hair.

She smiled, but the humor quickly faded back into puzzlement. "But…"

"It was never official, but…there were those who were rather enthusiastic about the possibility, and I suspect that may have contributed to the gossip you've heard."

It took a moment, then realization rushed in, and Lisswyn's stomach knotted. "Eowyn." That would explain the way the other woman had greeted her the day she arrived with the other refugees.

"At Edoras, yes. There were apparently others in Gondor. But do not underestimate my sister's friendship toward you at this point. She might have initially wanted me to wed the princess, but she now understands why you're a better choice. I said earlier that she already sees you as a sister, and it's true. "

Lisswyn slowly nodded, remembered Eowyn giving her her training sword, and the two of them standing together on the steps of Meduseld, awaiting battle.

Silence descended again as Lisswyn relaxed against him, content to be held, to ponder what he had said. Gradually, she realized she was cold and looked down, noted that the cloak had fallen open.

As she moved to pull it closed again, Eomer asked, "Why do you hold yourself that way?"

Puzzled, she looked down again, then went still as she saw what he meant. Without being aware of it, her arms were still crossed protectively over her chest.

She didn't know how to answer him, wasn't sure herself what the answer was. That the cuts were sore and felt less so when her arms were positioned in a particular way was only part of it. And he'd never understand, might even feel hurt, if she admitted still feeling vulnerable, despite his protective arms around her.

"It's nothing." She tried to relax, continued pulling the cloak back over her. Maybe he'd think she was just still cold.

"Lisswyn."

Or maybe not, given the warning tone in his voice.

Grateful that there was some distance between Thedhelm in front of them and the rider behind them, she finally forced herself to look up, banished the memory of the shame she'd felt at Hunlaf touching her in front of Eomer and his men. Wishing she could see him more clearly, she spoke quietly. "He cut me." Despite her efforts, her voice trembled, and she paused to steady it. "I'll be fine. I'm just sore."

He stiffened, and she dropped her head to his chest, too weary to know how to respond to his anger. Perhaps she shouldn't have told him, but until she could get somewhere private and check the wounds, she didn't know how serious they were. Or if they'd leave scars. If they did…it probably wasn't a conversation to leave until their wedding night.

Long moments passed, and she understood it was because he was trying to bring himself under control. But when he spoke, his words surprised her. "I'm sorry."

Startled, she looked up. Even in the dim light, she could tell he wasn't looking at her.

"Why? It is not your fault."

"Isn't it? If I had told you earlier how I felt, you would not have left Edoras. Would not have been at Hunlaf's mercy." His tone was bitter.

Astonished, Lisswyn didn't respond. Couldn't. Knowing how responsible he felt for everyone in Edoras, she should have anticipated this.

Finally, loving him beyond reason, she again looked up at him. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her hand. "If it must be someone's fault other than Hunlaf, it is mine, for leaving the city. I thought I would be safe so close to Edoras, and was wrong."

He shook his head. "You should have been safe. It is not your fault."

She couldn't help smiling at his stubborn tone. "Then it is not yours, either," she said firmly.

He sighed, dropped his head against hers. "I should have told you. I hate that he hurt you like that, that I couldn't prevent it, couldn't protect you."

Overcome with tenderness, she kissed him. "You prevented a far greater hurt that he had planned." She didn't spell out what she meant, knew she didn't have to. Changing the subject, she asked, "Why did you not tell me?"

He was silent for so long she began to worry that she shouldn't have asked the question. Wondering if she'd been too forward, she started to apologize. "I'm sorry—"

"No." He shook his head. "Do not apologize. It is your right to know this, as well." He paused again, and when he finally spoke, he sounded tired and troubled. "As I said, from my perspective a betrothal between me and the princess was merely a possibility. But I feared that from her father's point of view it was rather more than that."

A great deal suddenly made sense, but before she could comment, he continued. "I did not know if I was completely free to love you, or if duty would require me to wed the princess."

Hearing the frustration in his tone, she shifted, looked up. Wishing she could see him more clearly, she said, "If you had not struggled with that, had not been prepared to do whatever you believed best for the Mark, you would not be the man I love."

He swallowed, dropped his head down again to rest against her. "That you would say that, believe that, is the very reason _you_ are the best thing for the Mark," he murmured. "And for her king." He nuzzled her cheek. "I love you."

The words still sent a thrill through her, and she wondered how long it would take before she got used to them. In some ways, she hoped she never did. She had to clear her throat before responding. "And I, you."

He shifted, pulled her closer to him, wrapped the cloak more tightly around her. Sighing, she rubbed her cheek against the leather of his armor, wished they were already back in Meduseld. Wished they were already husband and wife. And drifted off to sleep on that longing.

* * *

Still mounted, Eomer turned Firefoot back toward the entrance to the trail, watched the men come out. The ones on foot immediately headed toward their horses while the ones already mounted moved more slowly due to their injuries. There had been no serious injuries to any of his men, something for which he'd always be grateful to Faramir.

Even with most of the men on foot, they'd made good time coming down the trail – but then, they'd not been tracking anyone, either.

Lisswyn shifted in her sleep, sighed, and he repositioned the cloak, tucked it tight against her, wished again he had something warmer to drape over her. He wanted to get her back to Meduseld, back to the healers.

Looking up, he noted with relief that the men were nearly all mounted, and he turned, nudged Firefoot to begin moving, then could not help but chuckle at the way the horse obeyed. His mount was ready to be back home as well.

Hearing a noise, he looked over, watched as Faramir joined him.

"How is she?"

"She'll be fine." Eomer stopped, unsure of what else to say. The entire night might have gone very differently if not for Faramir and his men. "Thank you," he finally said, knowing the words were inadequate.

In the dim light, he saw Faramir nod, but the other man didn't speak right away, and Eomer had the sense that he was choosing his words with care, as was his wont. Afraid that the Prince was getting ready to express his displeasure at Eomer's relationship with Lisswyn, he wearily braced himself.

"Eomer, what do you know of my childhood?"

The question was so different from what he'd expected that he didn't answer immediately, and when he did, he too chose his words with caution, unsure if some of what Eowyn had shared had been confidential. "Some."

Faramir's voice was quiet, and tinged with sadness. "Then you probably know that my relationship with my father was not an easy one."

Eomer struggled for a response, still uncertain as to the point Faramir was making. He finally settled for simply nodding.

"My brother was much loved by my father, for they had much in common. I was very different from both of them, and thus spent my life in Boromir's shadow."

Eomer didn't reply, couldn't. There was no self-pity in Faramir's tone, just simple acceptance of a truth.

"I love my cousin dearly, Eomer, and would not wish a similar fate for her in her marriage."

Ah. They were discussing Lothiriel, after all. He tried to follow Faramir's line of thought. In the darkness, he saw the outline of the other man's head as he nodded toward Lisswyn.

"Your heart has chosen, and what Eowyn and I might have wished for initially in terms of a union between you and my cousin is now immaterial. Even if there had been a formal betrothal between you and Lothiriel, I would have fought against any attempt on your part to honor it, once your feelings for Lisswyn became clear."

"My heart had not yet been given when I was introduced to your cousin," Eomer felt compelled to point out, wishing he didn't sound quite so defensive.

"I know."

"I did not wish to bring any dishonor to Lothiriel."

"I know that as well, and my response would be different if that weren't so clear to me. And knowing you to be an honorable man, I believe that even if you had been betrothed and felt bound to honor such an agreement, you would have done your best to make her happy. But she would still have spent her life knowing your heart was truly elsewhere, even if you had never again seen Lisswyn."

_Never again seen Lisswyn. _His stomach rolled at the thought, and he leaned down, pressed his lips against her hair.

"It is not only my cousin I would see happy, Eomer." Faramir's voice was so soft that Eomer looked over in his direction. "You are no less deserving than she is, or I am, to live in love and peace."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, relief poured through him. _Thank you, Eowyn._ She had obviously done as she had promised, and convinced Faramir not to take offense on Lothiriel's behalf. More than that, he realized he'd misjudged the other man's friendship, many times over.

Deeply moved, he again looked in Faramir's direction, wished dawn would hurry, wished they weren't having this conversation in the dark. "Thank you, my brother," he said quietly.

* * *

"Lisswyn."

His voice was soft in her ear, but was sufficient to awaken her. Lisswyn opened her eyes, shifted away from where she'd been curled next to his chest, and looked around. Edoras rose up before them, a darker shadow against the background of night. But lights blazed against the dark, and in the east, there was the barest hint of lighter sky signaling that dawn was not far off.

They rode through the opening where the gates should be, then up the road to Meduseld. As they made their way up the path, she saw smiles and looks of relief, and it only gradually dawned on her that they weren't all due to the King's safe return. Some were clearly in response to her presence.

By the time they reached the courtyard in front of the Golden Hall, a crowd was following them. Eomer brought Firefoot to a halt, and she saw more people pouring out of the hall and down the steps as well.

Eomer dismounted, then lifted her to the ground, but left his arm around her to steady her as he handed Firefoot's reins to Breghelm.

"Glad you're safe," the older man said gruffly.

She smiled, but before she could answer, Brynwyn flung herself at her, would have knocked her down if not for the solid shape of the King behind her. Lisswyn gave a shaky laugh, brought her hand up to stroke her sister's hair. "I'm fine, Brynwyn."

The little girl looked up, then past her, to Eomer. "I knew you would be. Eomer-King promised."

Lisswyn slanted him a look, unsure of how to respond, and then suddenly saw the boys standing with Hilde and Eowyn, a few feet away. Her arm still around Brynwyn, she walked over to them. Glancing at all of them in turn, her gaze settled last on Andric. Tears wanted to come, but she blinked them back. "Thank you."

Embarrassed, he looked away. "Breghelm needs me," he muttered, and with that, was gone, followed by Eoden. Lisswyn suppressed a laugh at the typically boyish reaction, then wearily started up the stairs, Brynwyn on one side of her, Hilde on the other. The older woman hadn't said anything, but Lisswyn had seen relief in her eyes.

As she climbed, she was once more aware of dozens of bruises, and despite having slept for most of the way back to the city, could only hope that she'd be able to find a place to take a bath and a nap before starting on the day's tasks.

Idly, she wondered what those tasks would be. There was much to do in rebuilding the city, but there was also a wedding to think about. That thought brought a smile. Eomer hadn't said anything else about it, and she had no way of knowing what might be involved with such an affair, nor, for that matter, when he anticipated it happening.

"You're walking funny."

She looked down to see a worried expression on Brynwyn's face.

"I'm just tired, and a little stiff." Even as she said the words, she became aware that Eomer and Eowyn were climbing with them, and saw him looking at her, a frown on his face. He leaned over and said something to his sister. Lisswyn couldn't catch all of it, but did understand the words, 'healers, immediately.' In response, Eowyn glanced at her and nodded.

Lisswyn looked over at him, shook her head. "I'm fine. All I need is a bath."

His frown deepened. "I want the healers to tend to you," he said flatly.

She brought her hand up, rubbed her eyes. Why couldn't he see that she was simply dirty and tired, and could tend the injuries she did have on her own? "That's unnecessary. I can take care of myself."

"Lisswyn."

"I don't need a healer," she snapped. As soon as the words were out, she regretted them, regretted the tone. Regretted them even more when she glanced around, saw shocked expressions around her as people registered her rudeness to him.

As for the man in question, his face had never worn a less loving expression. His eyes were hard and cold when he gritted out, "The healers will decide that."

Mortified at losing her composure in front of people, and furious with him for not understanding that she didn't want to be poked and prodded right then, she turned from him, started climbing again. "Yes, sire."

The sound of frustration behind her didn't bode well for their next conversation. He would never believe she hadn't called him 'sire' to annoy him, but what was she supposed to call him? If people had been shocked by her rudeness, they would have been even more stunned if she'd called him by his given name.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs and headed into Meduseld, she was fighting tears, appalled by what had just happened. Turning to make her way to the room she'd once shared with Hilde, she tensed when she felt a hand on her arm.

"This way," Eowyn said quietly.

Grimly, Lisswyn turned to follow her. If nothing else, once she'd been fussed over by the healers, perhaps they'd let her get some sleep.

Eowyn started toward her own chambers. "When Eomer sent word ahead that you were on your way home," she said quietly, "I had them draw a bath in my room for you. I thought it would be more likely to grant you privacy than the other rooms."

As they walked into the room, Lisswyn looked around, thought perhaps that privacy was an extremely relative word. There were no less than eight women who'd followed them through the door, and she resisted the desire to laugh somewhat hysterically. She was used to a lack of privacy, as there'd been precious little of it in the caves, but she'd never before been so conscious of being the center of attention when she was preparing to bathe.

Eowyn must have seen it, must have understood, because in moments, the room was empty of all save the two of them, Hilde, and Brynwyn. Relieved, she managed a smile for the King's sister, then started to remove the cloak she still wore draped over her shoulders.

And in the light, saw for the first time the blood and filth on her dress. Was all the blood hers? Had Hunlaf been bleeding when he held her, there at the end? Why would he have been?

Uneasily, she glanced over at Brynwyn, then back up to Hilde. She held the other woman's eyes for a long moment before looking back at her sister. She didn't want the little girl to see her covered with blood, even if it wasn't all hers.

"Brynwyn, would you do me a favor?" At the eager nod, she smiled. "I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. Would you go with Hilde to the kitchen and see what you can find for me? It doesn't matter what it is."

Another nod, and they left, Hilde's worried expression making it clear she suspected the reason for Lisswyn's request.

Lisswyn turned back to the tub, and began to remove her clothes without looking at Eowyn. She couldn't very well demand the other woman leave her own room, and in any case, she suspected that Eowyn's presence was a compromise of sorts, allowing her at least a chance to bathe before being examined by the healers.

She slipped out of the dress, left it where it fell. Her shift was harder to remove, as some of the blood had dried it onto her skin, and she winced as she pulled it off. It was with a sigh of relief she finally stepped into the hot water, eased down.

Eowyn silently handed her soap and a soft cloth, and Lisswyn began to wash, wincing as the soap stung in the cuts. There were a total of six, one in each arm and four on various places on her breasts and upper chest area. Only two were deep enough to be concerned about, in her opinion, though they'd probably all leave scars. The last two were the worst, particularly the one Hunlaf had given her to convince Eomer to order his men to lay down their weapons. Odd, since at the time she'd barely noticed it.

"Does Eomer know?" Eowyn asked the question as she moved over to the wardrobe, began looking through it.

"Know what?"

"About the wounds."

Lisswyn looked up to find the other woman now watching her. She nodded, resumed cleaning the dried blood around the cuts.

"And yet you wonder why he was so insistent about the healers?"

Rather than censure, there was honest puzzlement in Eowyn's voice. Lisswyn slowly stopped cleaning, closed her eyes for a moment before looking back over at her. "No. Not really. But was it so wrong of me to want just a few minutes to myself first? To see the damage for myself before others started examining me?"

"No, I suppose not." Eowyn said slowly as she moved back toward her, a robe over her arm. "The wounds are nothing to be ashamed of, you know." She leaned against the desk, met Lisswyn's eyes. "Battle scars."

"Hardly." Lisswyn grimaced. "There was nothing I could do, no way I could fight back."

"There are many ways of resisting, some more subtle than others. The men Eomer sent back to let us know you were safe are telling everyone of the courage you displayed. And apparently, you managed to warn Eomer when Hunlaf was about to attack – something not insignificant, given his lack of a weapon at that point."

Embarrassed, Lisswyn tried to think of a response, was spared by a knock at the door.

"I suspect your time to examine the injuries yourself is up," Eowyn remarked, and went to answer it.

Mylla stepped into the room, and knowing Eowyn was correct, Lisswyn turned back to finish her bath, grateful that it was at least one of the other women healers who'd been sent to check on her.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you very much for all the wonderful comments about the last part! It means a great deal to me that so many of you liked it, and took the time to say so. _

_Several of you asked about a possible sequel. Nothing is written at this point, and I'm starting work on an original novel (gulp!) but I have an idea or two for a sequel, and am beginning to think I'm going to find it very difficult to walk completely away from these characters. Stay tuned. ;)_


	35. Imrahil

Fresh from his own bath, Eomer stepped from his sitting room into his study, unsurprised to see Imrahil there, waiting for him.

"I'm told the healer was with you. Are you injured?" the Prince asked, concern evident in his dark eyes.

Eomer shook his head. "A scratch from where Hunlaf's knife pierced my mail. Nothing serious."

The other man nodded, motioned to a tray of food on the desk. "I took the liberty of asking for your breakfast to be served in here. I hope you do not mind if I join you."

"Of course not." There was a long list of tasks awaiting his attention, but one of them was a discussion with the Prince, so breakfasting together made sense. He took his seat, watched while the other man did likewise. Then simply stared at the meal in front of him. Where to start?

"Faramir tells me that the man you pursued – Hunlaf? – was responsible for the orc attacks."

Eomer nodded. "Apparently, he was half Eorlingas and half Dunlending, and like many such men, harbored nothing but hatred and bitterness for both peoples. I'm still not sure whether he seriously thought to try to rule in my stead, or if his goal was simply to destroy the Riddermark. If he had succeeded in burning Edoras and killing me and Eowyn, chaos would have resulted regardless of whether he was trying to rule or not."

"What of his men?"

"Five men surrendered, all full-blood Dunlendings. Hunlaf promised them the choicest parts of our land in return for their help. They were fools to have trusted him." He shook his head. "For now, they are in the dungeons, where they will stay until Aragorn returns. I would know what he has discovered in the outlying villages before I decide what is to be done with them. I would also hear his counsel in the matter."

"You think to let them go?"

"With Hunlaf gone and the orcs defeated, I would like to believe a show of mercy at this point could contribute to a truce between the Riddermark and the Dunlendings." He reached for a mug of tea, started to drink, then sat it down untouched, and sighed. "I would very much like to secure true peace for my people."

"Understandable." Imrahil reached for a slice of bread, spread some soft cheese on it. "I had a lengthy conversation with your sister last night, after you and Faramir departed."

Eomer looked at him, knew the conversation was shifting from Hunlaf to Lisswyn.

"Tell me about her."

It was clear that Imrahil meant Lisswyn, and Eomer once again stared down into his mug. Eowyn had once asked him the same thing, and he'd struggled then to answer it. How much harder it was to answer the same question from the Prince. After a moment, he looked up, responded with a question of his own. "What is the source of love? Why does a man come to love one woman and not another?"

Imrahil looked puzzled.

Eomer continued, as much to himself as the Prince. "I met your daughter and thought her a lovely and accomplished woman. Would I have fallen in love with her if I'd spent more time with her?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I've never been in love before," he murmured. "I met Lisswyn under difficult circumstances, and found her to be courageous and admirable. She responded to me first as a man without ever forgetting that I am also a king, which I appreciated. But how did that come to be love to the point that I would have died for her? To the point that I can be furious with her, and yet still love her?" he finished ruefully.

The Prince looked thoughtful, but didn't speak, and Eomer said, "Imrahil, it was never my desire to dishonor Lothiriel or Dol Amroth in any way. Just the opposite, in fact. But if I sent Lisswyn away, breaking both her heart and mine, and married your daughter while loving someone else – would that not be a different kind of dishonor to her? I sincerely believe your daughter to be a lovely and compassionate woman who deserves better than a man whose heart is elsewhere."

Imrahil nodded, cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Eomer. From what your sister told me last night, this matter has caused you great anxiety at a time when you've had much else on your mind, and I've not reassured you as quickly as I probably ought to have done." His expression hinted at a smile. "The truth is that while I admire you and would have been pleased to see my daughter wed to you, I would have been less pleased to have her so far away from me," he admitted. "But even while confessing to some relief that she will not be moving to Rohan, as her father it mattered to me that you had not simply dismissed her from your mind."

Eomer shook his head. "Far from it. Until the situation arose with Hunlaf, I had determined not even to speak of my feelings to Lisswyn herself until I had spoken with you concerning your daughter."

Imrahil didn't speak for a long moment, then said, "Thank you for that."

Eomer hesitated. "I would know, Imrahil…what is likely to be Lothiriel's response? I would not wish to cause her any grief."

The Prince shook his head. "It is possible I may wind up owing you more than either of us can know at this point," he said slowly. "My daughter is a very serious young woman who thinks much of duty and trying to do the right thing – I believe it comes from the dark times she has been raised in. She said once that you seemed a good and honorable man, and asked me if marriage to you was the right thing for Dol Amroth. I believe she would wed you if I had said yes, regardless of her own heart." He looked sad. "The truth is, I think she cares quite deeply for a young Gondorian soldier she believes I won't approve of. So it is possible that by your actions, instead of dishonoring her in any way, you may have given her her best chance of true happiness, and I thank you for it."

"I take it you do not disapprove of the Gondorian soldier?"

Imrahil gave him a wry smile. "No more so than any man I considered for her, yourself included. He is the younger son of a noble family, and from what Elessar tells me, he is brave and honorable as well as being much respected, both by the other soldiers and the rest of Gondorian nobility." He shrugged. "Some of my advisers will complain that we are throwing away alliance opportunities, but I will not subject my daughter to a marriage that is not in her best interests. If the two of you had formed a bond, I would have given her to Rohan. But I do not trust some of the other rulers who've sent emissaries seeking her hand."

They both fell silent, then Imrahil asked with a smile, "Returning to your plans…when is the wedding?"

Eomer shook his head. "I do not know." It was his turn to grin wryly. "As a man, I would like very much for it to be this afternoon. But as a king," he sighed. "…my city is in need of repairs, many of my people without homes. By the time they're rebuilt, winter will be upon us, and people will find it difficult to travel, both from other parts of the Mark and from Gondor. And yet, waiting until spring will cause its own problems, not least in that Lisswyn herself is one of those without a home, but it will not look right if she spends the winter living in Meduseld when we're not wed."

Imrahil nodded. "I see your dilemma." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But winter is not yet come. My men and I are here, as is Faramir, and Elessar will return. Not only is that a lot of hands to help you rebuild, unless I miss my guess, it includes some of those from Gondor you mentioned wishing to attend your wedding."

Hope nudged inside Eomer. "You think I should have the wedding soon, before winter?"

"It is your choice, of course, but a wedding would be a source of joy and celebration for your people. It is traditional to have a harvest festival here in the city, is it not?" At Eomer's nod, he continued, "Then why not have the wedding then? That is nearly six weeks away – plenty of time to rebuild the lost homes with our help, and many of your people travel to Edoras at that time of year anyway. It would even be sufficient time for others to travel from Gondor."

Eomer simply stared at him, wonder on his face. "I would owe you more than I could ever repay," he finally murmured.

Imrahil's expression turned grave, and he shook his head. "Elessar was right when he said there will never be debts owed nor kept between Rohan and Gondor, but if we did, your people's valor and losses on the Pelennor would still overset anything we might ever do for you." He cleared his throat. "So what do you say?"

Eomer simply grinned at him. "I need to discuss it with Lisswyn, but I would appreciate your help and that of your men, more than words can tell."

"Then go discuss it with her," Imrahil said, standing. "And I'll go consult with my men concerning sending another group to fell more trees."

* * *

Lisswyn eased down onto Eowyn's bed with a sigh. It did feel good to stretch out on the soft mattress. After the long and relaxing bath she'd taken, she no longer felt quite so in need of sleep, and had said so to Eowyn and Mylla, only to be completely overruled. Mylla had examined and bound her arm, and had given her salve and soft bandages for the other cuts before announcing that while she thought Lisswyn would recover completely, that a day in bed would be a good thing.

Lisswyn had no intention of spending the entire day in bed. There was simply too much to do. But it had seemed prudent to agree at least to take a nap.

"Do you need anything else?" Eowyn asked.

Curled on her side, Lisswyn shook her head. "No, thank you." She'd eaten the meal Hilde and Brynwyn had brought, and was dressed in a soft, warm nightgown of Eowyn's. On the table next to the bed was a potion Mylla had left, promising it would help reduce her soreness if she took some before she slept.

Eowyn started to respond, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. The door to Eomer's chamber. She glanced at Lisswyn, a half-smile on her face, as she went to answer it, and Lisswyn sat back up, tried to settle the nerves in her stomach.

Eomer entered the room and glanced at Eowyn rather pointedly before turning to look at Lisswyn. With a final, encouraging smile, Eowyn slipped out of the room, saying, "I'll be just outside."

Understanding that the other woman was acting as a discreet chaperone, Lisswyn blushed, then felt nerves return as her glance moved back to Eomer.

"How are you?" He was still on the other side of the room, his expression unreadable.

_Tired of answering that question_, she thought. "Embarrassed." She forced herself to look at him. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I'm sorry."

He simply stared at her, an impassive look on his face, and Lisswyn's heart sank. She dropped her head into her hands, tried to remember exactly what she'd said. Had it really been that bad?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize he'd moved until he settled next to her on the edge of the bed. Hesitantly, she looked up at him, tried to find the words that would put things right, but he spoke before she could.

"Was it really so unreasonable of me to want a healer to attend you?"

Relieved that his tone was puzzled rather than angry, she said, "Of course not. But was it unreasonable of me to want a few moments to myself – a chance to check my injuries myself?"

He slowly shook his head, then reached out, stroked her cheek lightly with his thumb. "I was worried."

"I should have understood that." She turned her face into his hand for a moment, then looked back at him, wondered how to show him what she was feeling. Deliberately, she mirrored his touch by sliding her hand up, along his cheek, then back behind his head. Drawing him down, she lightly brushed his lips with her own. He started, then parted his lips in invitation. Shivering a bit, she boldly deepened the kiss, enjoyed both the feel and the taste of him, the knowledge that he was truly hers. They were both out of breath when she released him, and it was a moment before she spoke again. "But I'm fine."

He gave a choked laugh before pulling her close to him and burying his face in her shoulder. "Point taken."

She sighed, rubbed her cheek against the softness of his tunic. "I still should not have spoken to you in such a manner."

"Why not?" He pulled back, tilted her face up so she could see a glint of humor in his eyes. "I've said worse to you." Laughter bubbled inside her at his tone, but faded as he continued more seriously. "I want you to always speak honestly to me," he said firmly. "I need that." Then the humor came back, and he gave her a mischievous grin. "Though perhaps not quite _that_ honestly when all of Edoras is watching."

Blushing, laughter erupted from her as she once more leaned against him. "The people are going to think you've chosen a shrew for a queen," she muttered, and he joined her in her laughter.

Silence fell and they sat without speaking for a while, leaning against each other.

Content, she was nearly asleep, when he suddenly pulled away. "I have something for you."

Lisswyn looked up, watched as he reached over to the table, picked up a piece of folded material that he must have placed there when he came in. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

It looked like a piece of his cloak. Puzzled, she unfolded it, then simply stared at the plants that lay there.

"Andric had mentioned that you'd been harvesting them when Hunlaf grabbed you. We found them when we were tracking you, and I thought you might still want them."

He'd taken the time to wrap them and carry them. Moved, she reached out and gently touched some of the leaves. There weren't many of them, as she'd been too upset to concentrate seriously on their harvest. But the fact that he'd thought to bring them for her brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at him, smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He was plainly puzzled by the intensity of her response. "What's this?" He reached over, picked up the small goblet of potion Mylla had left.

Lisswyn shrugged. "She says it will help me sleep." As an explanation, it was better than telling him the drug's true purpose of reducing her soreness. She didn't want to see the worried scowl return to his face.

"Why haven't you taken it?" He was scowling anyway, and she sighed.

"I was going to take it right before trying to sleep. I was sort of hoping you'd come in before I did," she admitted.

The distraction worked. "Oh?"

"I thought I'd sleep better if I knew you weren't still angry over how I spoke to you on the steps."

His eyes glinted with humor. "I was hoping you weren't still angry with me over my insistence that you see a healer."

Lisswyn laughed, and he handed her the goblet. "Drink it."

It was her turn to scowl, but she took the drink from him, lifted it to her mouth, and nearly dropped it when he suddenly asked, "How would you feel about a harvest festival wedding?"

Lowering the drink, she stared at him. "So soon? How?"

"Imrahil suggested it. He has offered to help us rebuild the lost homes, and believes such a celebration would be good for our people. I know it would be good for me," he finished quietly.

Lisswyn smiled uncertainly, her mind scrambling with thoughts of preparing for a royal wedding in such a short amount of time. It was overwhelming, but Eowyn's presence would help.

Looking up, she saw Eomer's eyes, dark and gleaming with excitement and hope, and realized that he was right. Such a celebration would be good for all of them, and if the Gondorians were going to help rebuild the city, they could certainly arrange a wedding in the same amount of time. A thrill went through her at the thought of being his wife so soon.

Setting the goblet on the table, she said, "I must get up. There's too much to do to sleep."

He picked it up, handed it back to her. "Drink it," he said firmly. "The wedding plans can wait one more day, while you recover."

"But—"

"Drink it."

Torn between laughter and resentment, she drank the mixture, grimaced at the taste.

He took the goblet, set both it and the re-wrapped plants on the table, then moved so she could slide back down under the covers.

Lisswyn sighed, reached out for his hand. He linked his fingers with hers, leaned down to kiss her. "There will be plenty of time for wedding preparations," he said. "Get some rest."

* * *

Eomer sat next to Lisswyn until he was sure she was asleep. Carefully pulling his hand away from where it had still been linked with hers, he brushed her hair back, away from her bruised face. Though there was much to do, he was reluctant to move, would happily have spent the morning simply sitting with her, watching her sleep.

Or better yet, climbing into the bed and holding her, as he'd done in front of the fire on the trail. He doubted he'd even sleep – as was common post-battle, he wasn't particularly tired.

It still seemed nothing short of miraculous that she was safe, that, thanks to Faramir, they'd arrived in time. And for that miracle to have been followed by Imrahil's not only offering his blessing on their marriage but also his assistance in bringing it about before winter… Eomer grinned in spite of himself.

No, he wasn't free to climb into the bed with her, even simply to hold her. But in a few short weeks, he'd have that right, would have the right to love her in every possible way.

With a sigh, he leaned over, brushed her forehead with another kiss before standing, straightening the blankets. There was much to do, and the first thing on the list could be done by no one but him.

The kitchen was largely unfamiliar territory to him, would probably have been so even without Hunlaf's obsessive insistence on privacy. He hoped, however, that with breakfast just past, that the area might be mostly deserted. He'd considered asking Tille to come to his study, but thought she might be more comfortable in her own territory.

Even as he opened the door and walked in, he sensed the change from what the kitchen had been like under Hunlaf. The atmosphere was different. Warm and cheerful, with the smell of fresh baked bread and the chatter of feminine voices.

The sounds died when they saw him standing there, of course, and he bit back a sigh at the alarmed looks. In addition to Tille, Betta was chopping meat while Liffild, her son sleeping in a basket nearby, kneaded bread, and two other young women, barely out of their childhood, were washing dishes. They'd all stopped what they were doing, frozen in place at the sight of the king in the kitchen.

"Sire? Did you need something?" Distress was evident in Betta's voice. "Was there no one available to assist you?"

Did they think him completely incapable of helping himself should the need arise? "I'm fine, Betta." He turned his gaze to Tille. "I'd like to speak to Tille for a moment, though. Alone."

Curiosity, concern and surprise were all evident on the faces of the women as they quickly exited the room. Perhaps he should have had Tille come to his study, after all – it might have reduced the gossip that was sure to spread. Then he glanced back at Tille, her face frozen with nerves at being singled out by him, and shook his head. Maybe there was no way of doing this in way that wouldn't be anxiety producing for her. Best to get it over with, then.

"Hunlaf is dead," he said abruptly.

The unease on her face faded somewhat, replaced by caution and concern, but not by surprise. She'd already known of Hunlaf's death, of course. It was no doubt all over the city by now.

"He died knowing that you're now in charge of Meduseld's kitchens, are doing so completely capably, and with the support of the entire household." It wasn't enough, would never make up for what she'd suffered. But it was all he had to offer her.

As his meaning registered, he saw fierce satisfaction flash in her eyes, but her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Thank you, sire."

An uneasy silence fell between them. What now? He didn't know what else to say to her. Awkwardly, he turned to leave, then looked back at the self-possessed young woman. "You have everything you need? You have a sufficient number of assistants?" Even as he asked it, the question struck him as slightly ridiculous, coming from him. What would he do if she said no? Send in some of his riders to help?

She nodded, and he turned again to leave, when she spoke. "My lord?"

"Yes?"

"I know it's none of my business, but… how is Lisswyn? Was she—" her voice faltered. "Did he—" She stopped, picked up a towel, ran it nervously through her hands. "Forgive me. I have no right."

_If not you, then who would have the right to ask such questions?_ he wondered, but then simply shook his head. "Please, do not apologize for being concerned. She's fine, just sleeping. Bruises and cuts, nothing more. We were in time," he said, and gratitude for that once more rushed through him.

Tille smiled. "I'm glad."

He returned the smile. "I'll tell her you asked about her."

* * *

_A/N: I hope no one is disappointed that the tension on the steps didn't turn into a bigger quarrel. They will no doubt have much, er, _stronger_ arguments in the future, but for now, while they're still finding their way and discovering what it's like not only to be in love, but to be allowed to be in love, this was sufficient as another step in their relationship, I think.  
_

_A/N 2: Some reviewers had expressed concern about Lothiriel. If any of you are still reading at this point, I hope you're satisfied with how I've taken care of her. No, she didn't get the Horselord, nor get to be queen of Rohan, but in this AU I've created, I envision her living a long and happy life near her family and the sea, cherished by a man who never ceases to be grateful he was given the opportunity to love her. :)_

_A/N 3: I've been notified that this has been nominated for an MPA. Utterly astonished and touched, I can't tell you what it means to me to know that someone enjoyed the story that much. Wow!_


	36. Adjustments and Plans

It was late when Lisswyn slipped into the weaving room the following evening. Using the candle she'd brought with her, she lit the ones in the room, then stood back and surveyed the bolts of cloth, a soft smile on her face. It was time to begin thinking about her bridal gown.

Although there was some lovely wool waiting to be spun, she turned from it back to the shelves of ready cloth. There was no time to spin, no matter how good the yarn. She would have to use some of the cloth already woven.

What did a royal wedding dress look like? The smile slipped, was replaced by a frown as she walked over to where the material rested in shelves along the wall, and began gently touching some of the bolts. Certainly, such a dress should be particularly fine…but it seemed wrong, somehow, to go to the excess with it when there were so many people in Edoras with hardly any clothing at all. But simple could be beautiful if done correctly and with the right material.

She glanced consideringly at the silk she'd noticed the first time she'd been in the room. But no, that must surely be for Eowyn's dress, for when she married Faramir.

Thoughts of Eowyn brought the smile back, along with a rush of gratitude for the woman who would become her sister. Lisswyn had known that the amount of effort in planning a royal wedding would be overwhelming; even so, she'd underestimated just how much there would be to do, particularly now, when the city was being rebuilt. But Eowyn just plowed forward, seeming to think of everything. Assisting with the wedding was going to limit the other woman's time to spend with Faramir, which only increased Lisswyn's gratitude.

At least the people of Edoras were enthusiastic about the wedding, even if it did mean a great deal more that would have to be done before the harvest festival. Eomer had made the announcement the night before, and a thrill went through her at the memory of how he'd looked on the dais, the expression on his face when he'd held out his hand to her, indicating she should join him. He'd started by sharing the Gondorians' offer to help rebuild the city, a good thing, she thought, because it made clear that he wasn't putting the wedding ahead of the needs of the people.

The gratitude and relief in the room had been tangible, and had seemed to lead easily to cheers, excitement and enthusiasm when he'd shared their betrothal and the wedding plans. Excitement and enthusiasm, but no surprise. Most of the city had already known of what had happened with Hunlaf, thanks to the members of Royal Guard – who were also making it clear they approved of the King's choice of a bride.

That helped, because his guards were much looked up to among the citizens of the Riddermark.

Many people had taken the time to tell her how glad they were she was to be their queen, and had certainly seemed sincere enough while doing so. Even so, not everyone had been pleased by the announcement, and while she wasn't surprised by that, Lisswyn wasn't sure what to do about it, if anything. Others, like Elfhelm's sister, Wynne, seemed to still be making up their minds about her. But that was fine, and only fair. And perhaps it was enough that most of the leaders of the Riddermark seemed to approve of her.

More surprising than the extremes of people who either obviously approved or obviously didn't was the coolness she'd detected from a few people who'd been nothing but warm and welcoming earlier. It wasn't disapproval, nor unfriendliness. Just a …hesitation that hadn't been there before.

It wasn't that the change surprised her – she'd known her relationships would change. It only made sense. But how did you have a relationship, a friendship, with someone despite that reserve? Another question for Eowyn, she supposed.

And they were all calling her 'my lady.' Appropriate, of course, but she kept looking around for Eowyn when they did.

If she was honest, of greater concern to her than the disapproval of some of the inhabitants of Edoras was the reaction of her closest friends to the announcement. Hilde was Hilde, and it was difficult to imagine anything changing between them. But Brecka, Liffild and some of the other women from the caves…something was going on there, but she couldn't imagine what it was. Of all people, why would they be aloof toward her – polite, but reserved? Why weren't they happy for her?

Troubled, she shook her head. Perhaps she was imagining things. Turning back to the cloth, she began to examine it more carefully. Eomer would probably wear green with gold or white trim – the colors of the Mark. What if she reversed it, and wore gold or white, with green trim?

Absorbed in the thought, she started when she heard the door open behind her. Turning, she gave an unsteady laugh when she saw Eowyn standing there. "You startled me."

"I thought I might find you down here." She glanced at the bolts of cloth Lisswyn had pulled out. "Why not use the silk?"

Tempted by the colors, Lisswyn walked over, touched the bolts of silk. She'd never worked with anything so lovely before. But she shook her head, looked back at Eowyn. "This must surely be for your gown."

"Yes, and – unfortunately – there is still plenty of time to acquire more for me, since there are months yet before my wedding." Her voice was dry, amused. "Use it. Please."

Lisswyn grinned at the other woman's tone then pulled out the cloth, placed it on a nearby table. "Thank you. It is lovely material. I'll enjoy working with it."

"Lisswyn."

There was now a warning note in Eowyn's voice, though she spoke gently, and Lisswyn looked up, confused.

"If you make the dress yourself, you'll offend the other dressmakers in Edoras, something you can not afford to do." The words were bluntly spoken though there was compassion in her eyes.

Not make the dress herself? Stunned, dismayed, Lisswyn stared down at the fabric, tried to understand.

"It will be a great honor for them to be able to say they made the new queen's bridal gown." Eowyn spoke gently. "Doing so will also increase their business. If you deprive them of that opportunity, they will not thank you for it."

"I see." Having been a weaver and dressmaker, she did see. But she had to swallow against tears that unexpectedly wanted to come. "You're right, of course. I should have thought of that. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Ever since I was a child first learning the craft, I dreamed of some day making the dress I'd wear at my wedding, seeing it as a gift of sorts for the man I loved." She managed a weak, wry grin. "Even during the years when it seemed unlikely there would ever be a wedding, let alone to a man I loved, that dream was still there." She cleared her throat. "But you're right, and I should have thought of that, should have thought of the other dressmakers."

Eowyn said nothing, walked over to look at the silk. After a moment, she spoke again, a speculative note in her voice. "There's a lot of material here."

Puzzled, Lisswyn waited for her to continue.

The other woman gave her a mischievous grin. "I would think there would be plenty for the weavers to make you a splendid dress for the wedding itself, and for _you_ to be able to make a lovely nightgown that only my brother would see."

It took a moment to understand what Eowyn was suggesting, and when she did, Lisswyn had to swallow before saying, "There would be." Touched and thrilled at the idea, she struggled to find something else to say, but Eowyn didn't seem to expect more of a response.

"Also, since the dressmakers know of your skill in this area, they will expect you to be involved in the design of the dress. It is not the same as making it yourself, I know," she added quietly. "But you will still be able to be involved."

"Doing all I can to help build their business is important," Lisswyn's voice was firm. "I'll work with them in designing the dress, but will allow them a free hand with it, to demonstrate my trust in them. And I'll please myself with a dress for the wedding _night_."

Eowyn laughed. "That's the spirit."

With a sigh, Lisswyn leaned against the table. "How many more missteps do you think I'll make?"

Eowyn shook her head. "It's not really a misstep. The dressmakers would have let you know fairly quickly they were unhappy with you." Her gaze sharpened. "Second thoughts?"

"About marrying your brother? No. None," Lisswyn said firmly. "About being queen…?"

"I've not seen him this happy since before our father died."

Lisswyn's head jerked up at the soft words.

"Even with all the problems still facing us, he's laughed more today than I think he has in years upon years. Others see it as well – even Elfhelm commented on it. Do not let the difficulties of becoming queen blind you to that." There was almost a begging note in Eowyn's voice.

Moved, both by what she was hearing and Eowyn's obvious love for Eomer, Lisswyn struggled for a response. But his sister was not the only one to love him. "Never," she finally said. "Never would I allow the challenges of being queen to weaken my love for him. But if I do the wrong thing as queen, that could hurt him in a different way." She turned, paced around the room. "There's so much I don't know, don't understand. And there are those who are just waiting for me to fail, to fall, to do something wrong. And then there are…" her voice faltered.

"What?"

"My friends, from the caves." It hurt to say the words. "I knew Alfild and her cronies would be furious at our betrothal, but I thought my friends…" She shook her head. "Never mind. I'll figure it all out." Forcing a smile, she added, "You know, it would help if anyone in our generation actually knew what a queen of the Riddermark was supposed to do."

Eowyn stared at her, then laughed. "That's true. We've not had a queen since well before you and I were born, due to my uncle never remarrying. And that does make it harder, doesn't it?" Her expression turned thoughtful. "But it also makes it easier, in a way. If there is nothing to guide you, there are also fewer expectations to live up to. You can find your own way." She paused, appeared to consider her words carefully. "Let your compassion lead you. As I said, eventually it would have occurred to you on your own that allowing the other dressmakers to make your bridal gown would help them. Your supporters always speak first of your compassion and willingness to help. Rely on that, and you'll find your way."

Once again, Lisswyn struggled to speak around the knot in her throat. Finally giving up, she simply nodded.

"As to your friends…"

Eowyn sounded thoughtful, and hope nudged inside her as she waited for the other woman to finish.

"Has it occurred to you that they're being cool toward you because they're waiting for you to set the tone, to show them that you still need and desire their friendship?"

No. No, it hadn't occurred to her, and Lisswyn felt a bit foolish that it hadn't. She shook her head.

"Give it time, give them time." Eowyn turned, wandered around the room, as if deep in thought. "I was thinking…you will need attendants, women to help you, to support you, especially once I'm gone. And perhaps Brecka, Liffild and Ceolwyn could fill some of those roles."

"Including Ceolwyn would make it clear I wasn't limiting my ladies-in-waiting to just my friends from the caves."

"Exactly."

Feeling lighter and more hopeful about being queen than she had all day, Lisswyn smiled. "Although I know it's selfish of me, I'm glad there are still many months before your wedding."

Eowyn snorted. "I may make you regret saying that as the wedding gets closer and I'm separated for months on end from Faramir," she said with a grin.

* * *

It was a gray, overcast day when the new gates were hung five days after Lisswyn's rescue from Hunlaf, but the dismal weather did nothing to dampen the moods of either the men who were helping to lift the gates into place, or of those who watched. A loud cheer went up when the gates swung closed for the first time, and Eomer, looking around at the Gondorian soldiers mingled with the people of Edoras, laughed aloud before glancing at the man standing next to him. "As happy as my people were to know your men were camped outside helping to provide security for the city, they're apparently happier still to have the gates back."

"I don't blame them," Imrahil responded with a chuckle. "After all, the gates will be here long after we've returned south."

Another shout went up, this time behind them, and they turned. Eomer automatically tensed when he saw people pointing at the dust clouds in the north, until he, too, saw and understood what his people were seeing – the King of Gondor's standard. Aragorn was returning from his survey.

* * *

Eomer once again stood on the sidelines of the great hall, enjoying the warmth and cheer flowing around him, as his people had used Aragorn's return from the north as a reason to celebrate. They were finding many reasons for such celebrations these days, and that cheered him. It was good to see them happy, equally good to see them optimistic about the future.

He saw Lisswyn across the room talking with Ceolwyn and Eothain, and enjoyed knowing that no one would be surprised that his eyes were on her. The captain of his guard had his arm around his wife in a public display of affection that was unusual for him, and was smiling at something Lisswyn had said. Eothain's approval of Lisswyn had only grown after learning of the care she had given his family during the sickness, and he'd been unstinting in voicing it. Although Eomer was aware there were those who didn't approve of his choice for queen, she had many influential supporters.

Aragorn walked up to stand next to him, and Eomer turned, smiled. They'd spent much of the afternoon discussing what the other man had found, and while there was yet some things to be worked out, most of what Aragorn had shared had been encouraging. Though there were villages that had suffered under the orcs, there appeared to be no additional bands of the creatures roving around causing trouble, nor did the Dunlendings seem to be being particularly active.

Aragorn followed where his gaze had been, then looked back at him, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I have not yet had time to congratulate you on your betrothal."

There was something there, something in the other man's eyes that Eomer could not quite follow. A bit of a private joke, perhaps.

And then he understood. "I was right. That _was_ why you sent for both Imrahil and Faramir. So I could have the conversations I needed to have with both of them concerning Lisswyn."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "You were being attacked by orcs. Was it so unreasonable of me to send for backup?"

Eomer choked with laughter, wondered what the people of Gondor would make of the knowledge that their king had a tendency towards matchmaking.

Before he could comment, though, Aragorn continued, "The fact that you had personal reasons for wanting to see both of them was entirely beside the point."

Eomer shook his head, still grinning. "Naturally. Still, I thank you, though."

"I am truly happy for you, my friend." Aragorn turned thoughtful. "She will make a fine queen. From what I'm hearing, most of your people see that, and even some of those who might have withheld judgment are seeing your happiness, and that is enough for them to be willing to give her their support."

"So Eowyn is telling me."

"Have you thought any more about the villages in the north?"

Eomer nodded, unsurprised by the change in topic. He'd done little else but think about it since hearing Aragorn's initial report. "With the gates rehung, and the progress we've made on rebuilding this week, there's less need for quite so many men here. Even with you gone, there will still be adequate men in Edoras, both for security and rebuilding." Aragorn would be shortly be leaving again, to return to Gondor to escort his wife and some of the other Gondor nobles back to the Mark for the wedding. "I've already discussed the matter with Elfhelm. He and his men have volunteered to ride north with emergency provisions for those villages and to offer whatever assistance is necessary. It is possible, though, that since you also notified other villages and eoreds of the situation, they may have already received some help."

"Your people reach out to one another, Eomer. It is heartening to see. What of Elfhelm's arm?"

"It's still bound, but he can ride with it, and I think he needs to do something to prove he's still useful." He grinned wryly, then sobered. "I also think it might be good for him and his men to have a break from Edoras, from their grief over their fallen comrades."

Aragorn nodded, and silence fell between them. The celebratory mood in the room was increasing. Though there was still sorrow over the men who'd died in the attack, there was much to be grateful for, not the least of which were friends.

* * *

Three weeks later, Lisswyn looked up at Eowyn helplessly. "I'd love to come, Eowyn. You must know that. But there's still so much to do before the wedding. Jenna is asking for a fitting for the dress, Betta and Tille wish to discuss the food arrangements again, and—"

Frustration flickered on the other woman's face. "Eomer declared today a rest day for everyone. That includes you."

Suppressing a sigh, Lisswyn glanced out the window. The day was cool but sunny and clear, and with the majority of the rebuilding work done, Eomer had called a break. There was still much to be finished, particularly on the interior of the buildings, but the outside work was mostly complete and both the people of Edoras and the soldiers from the south were exhausted. Four weeks had passed since Hunlaf's death and except for the day the gates had been rehung, everyone in the city had been working from dawn until far after sunset in an effort to get the harvest in and Edoras rebuilt before winter. Before the harvest festival.

"The dressmakers, Betta and Tille all need a break as well," Eowyn said firmly. "If you take one, they will also. We still have nearly two weeks before the wedding, and with the exterior of the buildings finished, some of the mad pace will slow – there will be more time to concentrate on plans for the wedding and festival."

The argument about the others needing a break was a good one, and Lisswyn started to relent. It wasn't as if she didn't _want_ to spend the day with Eomer, Eowyn and Faramir.

Pressing her advantage, Eowyn, her tone growing sharper, added, "The wedding is not more important than my brother." She rested her hands on her hips.

Startled, Lisswyn looked up. "What?"

"He needs a break, but I doubt he'll take one if you don't. More than that, he needs to see _you. _He's been growing increasingly unpleasant to be around, and Faramir thinks it's because he's been too busy to spend any time with you."

Lisswyn opened her mouth, closed it, uncertain of a response. It was hard not to feel a thrill of pleasure at the thought that Eomer was missing her. She had certainly missed him.

"Is planning for the wedding more important than the man you're marrying?" Eowyn's voice turned persuasive.

"Of course not. You know it's not. But that doesn't change the fact that I can't marry him in a work dress, nor can we serve people nothing but bread and apples!"

"Come for a ride and picnic with us. The preparations are progressing on time. You know that. And I'll be able to do more to help you, now that the harvest is nearly finished and the exterior of the homes are rebuilt."

"Very well. You're quite persuasive, you know," Lisswyn said with a smile.

Eowyn grinned at her. "It's not like you didn't want to come with us."

There was no response to that. The other woman was absolutely right.

By the time she followed Eowyn down the steps of Meduseld toward the stable, any lingering guilt about not spending the day working on wedding details had vanished. It was a spectacular day in late autumn, the snow-topped mountains bright against the deep blue of the sky, and the knowledge that she was going to spend the bulk of it with Eomer only increased her pleasure.

She was smiling when they reached the stables. Eoden was saddling Firefoot, while Andric held the reins of two other horses that must belong to Eowyn and Faramir. Then Eomer stepped out of the stable, and all coherent thought fled, scattered by the sight of him. She'd seen him over the past few weeks, of course, but it had almost always been at a distance. Knowing it was foolish, she still stopped and simply stared, unable to look away. He was dressed casually in a tunic and leggings rather than in his armor, and the soft material emphasized his muscles in a way the armor never could.

He turned, saw her, and the pleasure that came into his eyes had guilt prickling at how close she'd come to refusing Eowyn's request that she join them.

His gaze never left her as he walked over to join her. "I wasn't certain you'd make the time to join us."

Lisswyn reached up, laid her hand along his cheek. "I nearly spent the day working on details for the wedding, as I want it to be perfect," she admitted. "But then I realized there was something I wanted more – to spend the day with you."

His eyes darkened, and he turned his head, pressed a kiss on her palm. Then he stepped back, looked at her, and his eyes lit. "Good! You're dressed for riding."

She looked down at herself and gave a rueful laugh. Only an Eorlingas man could take so much pleasure in a woman in leggings and a tunic. She'd worn them at Eowyn's suggestion, and while they might be appropriate for a ride and picnic, there was nothing even remotely attractive about them. But before she could say so, Eoden walked up to them, Firefoot's reins in his hands.

The stallion stamped impatiently and nudged Eomer. "We're not the only ones needing a break from Edoras." Glancing around, Eomer nodded to Eowyn and Faramir, then looked back at Lisswyn. "Let's ride!"

* * *

Lisswyn bent forward, grabbed Firefoot's mane more firmly, and laughed in delight as the wind whipped her braid. Eomer was behind her, his solid chest resting against her back as he too leaned forward, his arms around her. The fact that she could feel the muscles of his thighs as he used them to both guide and encourage the horse only increased her complete awareness of him. And her pleasure.

He made a noise of frustration as Eowyn passed them again, and Lisswyn laughed at the sound, tried to choke it back as he growled in response.

Slowing Firefoot to a canter, then a walk, he sat back up, pulled Lisswyn up against him as they watched as a very smug-looking Eowyn turn her mount, ride back toward them.

"Even Firefoot can't beat you when he's carrying two people," he shouted at his sister when she was within hearing distance. "But if he'd been carrying just one of us…"

"…we would still have beaten you," Eowyn insisted, reaching down to stroke her horse's neck.

"Only in your dreams."

Laughing again at their sparring, Lisswyn said, "I could always walk for a while, to make it a fairer contest."

Eomer's arms tightened around her. "Absolutely not." Leaning down, he added in a whisper loud enough for Eowyn to hear him, "We wouldn't want to ruin Eowyn's day with a defeat."

Eowyn snorted with laughter, then together they turned their horses, started back toward where Faramir was waiting on his mount, an indulgent smile on his face.

As if in unspoken agreement, they allowed some distance to grow between them, with Eowyn and Faramir off to their left, close enough to still be in shouting distance, far enough away to allow some privacy. And well beyond them, she could see members of the royal guard.

She watched them for a few moments, and then looked up at Eomer, a troubled expression on her face.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"You'll think I'm foolish."

He frowned. "I doubt that very much, but try me and see."

Gazing off at the guards again, she said softly, "Perhaps they might have wished for a day off as well."

For a long moment, he didn't reply, and she wondered if she'd annoyed him. Then he leaned down, pressed a kiss against her hair. "Such concern is one reason you're going to make such a good queen, but in this case, it's unnecessary. They are riders who've been working night and day to rebuild the city. Trust me, the ones who came along with us are quite happy to be out here, on their mounts. But today was also a volunteer assignment. We're not going that far from Edoras, and didn't need the full guard to come along, so only those who wished to escape the city for a while are with us."

"Oh." Feeling foolish after all, she changed the topic. "What of the Dunlendings in the dungeon? What is King Elessar's counsel?" It was a question she'd wanted to ask ever since the King of Gondor's return from the north several weeks prior.

Eomer's reply was slow, thoughtful. "He recommended having Elfhelm and his eored escort them home after the harvest—"

Her sigh of relief escaped before she could stop it, and he looked down, his arms still tight around her. "You've not been frightened, knowing they were in Meduseld? There was no possible way they could harm you."

Hearing the concern in his voice, she was quick to shake her head. "No, it's not that." She hesitated. "Perhaps it's weak of me, but I'm glad it's not you who are escorting them." Touching his cheek, she added, "I know the day will come when you will need to leave Edoras, even ride into battle." She tried, could not quite prevent a shudder at the thought. "I'm just glad it will not be now."

He nuzzled her cheek before responding. "I did not want to leave you so soon after the wedding," he admitted, "but beyond that, Aragorn believes it is actually better than I not be the one to take them. He thinks it will be greater indication of our strength to the Dunlendings if I send them with someone else rather than going myself."

"You don't sound sure of that."

"I'm not." He paused. "I trust Aragorn, trust his instincts. And I understand what he is saying – that given Dunlending culture, they might well have more respect for me if I don't go, if I send someone else. But at the same time, I can't help but wonder if a face-to-face meeting with them might work some good."

Lisswyn didn't reply immediately. She understood his concern, but didn't know how to respond. The desire to be a good queen, to help him make the best possible choices for the Riddermark, was at odds with the longing to tell him that King Elessar was right, that he should stay safely in Edoras – not because it was necessarily the best choice he could make as king, but because she didn't want him to leave.

"You must always do what you believe to be right," she finally said, "or you'll begin to feel like you're not the one really ruling the Mark. And if you begin to doubt yourself, others will as well. If you truly believe it might accomplish more if you met with the Dunlendings, you should go. At the same time…"

"Yes?"

"Eowyn has told me that King Elessar is older than he appears, and has spent many years traveling throughout these lands."

"That's correct. He rode with our grandfather, actually, and knew my uncle as a boy. Why?"

"…then perhaps you should listen to what he says about the Dunlendings," she ended quietly.

"If one is fortunate enough to have the returned King of Gondor as a friend and advisor, one should listen to him?" his voice was dry, amused.

Lisswyn looked up at him. "Something like that."

He leaned down, brushed her lips with a kiss. "I believe that to be good advice as well, and shall heed it."

She settled back against him again, and a comfortable silence fell between them.

They'd had so few moments like this, where they could simply enjoy being together. She hadn't realized until now just how much she'd needed it, needed to see him. To spend time with him.

Being with him, surrounded by him – his arms, his scent – it all seemed so simple. It was easy to remember why she'd agreed to marry him.

To be queen of the Riddermark.

Because she loved him so much she ached from it, because the thought of living without him was unbearable. Because when she was with him, it was easy to imagine it working out, easy to imagine being a successful queen.

But when she wasn't seeing him, wasn't spending time with him, all she could see were the problems. The questions. The disapproving looks from some of the women of the court. In all innocence, Brynwyn had told her of overhearing two of the women speculating on why Eomer had chosen Lisswyn when he could have married Lothiriel of Dol Amroth.

It wasn't that she was surprised by being the subject of so much gossip and speculation. She'd expected that, had understood that it was part of the price she'd pay, for the rest of her life, for being with Eomer. But facing it when she hadn't actually seen the man in weeks had been harder than she'd anticipated.

Lisswyn sighed, moved her hand to link her fingers with the hand he had around her waist. In just over two weeks, they'd be married, and while there would no doubt continue to be gossip and problems of all kinds, she'd at least be able to see him on a regular basis.

In the meantime, there was today. She forced her thoughts away from anything except the pleasure of being with him. "Where, exactly, are we going?" Her question broke the quiet.

He pointed ahead of them, to the right. "See those trees, running along the foot of the mountain?" At her nod, he continued, "there's an open area in the middle of them, next to where a small stream feeds a waterfall. We'll picnic there."

* * *

Lisswyn stretched her legs out in front of her and took another bite of the bread and cheese they'd enjoyed for their meal. Eomer sat next to her, while Eowyn and Prince Faramir were across the blanket. Currently, Eomer was getting revenge on Eowyn for winning the race by telling stories of her childhood – several of which Eowyn had vehemently denied.

While hoping that Eowyn might eventually turn the tables on Eomer and start telling stories on him, Lisswyn was content simply to listen. The truth was that she still felt shy around the Prince of Ithilien. Odd, that, as she felt no such shyness around King Elessar, but perhaps that was due to the way she'd first met him, after he'd saved her life in the caves.

Silence fell, and she looked up to see the others all staring at her. Blushing, she said, "My apologies. My mind was wandering."

"We were wondering who we should go to to find out embarrassing details about your childhood, since Brynwyn is clearly too young to tattle on you." Even as he asked the question, she saw Eomer's eyes move from humor to regret as the logical answer came to his mind. "Maegwen," he said softly. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She leaned over, laid a finger on his lips. "She is never far from my thoughts, regardless." She looked at Eowyn and Faramir, and managed a smile. "I expect Hilde would be able to come up with all manner of embarrassing stories about my childhood, though, if you must have some."

Eomer placed his arm around her, pulled her to him, and kissed the top of her head, still by way of apology, she knew.

"There is really no one left to tell stories of my childhood, either," Faramir said, and when Lisswyn turned to him, she found him watching her with a compassionate look in his eyes.

Knowing he was thinking of his brother, she appreciated his attempt to ease the awkwardness even more, and gave him a hesitant smile in return.

Shifting away from her, Eomer stood, then reached down and pulled her up. "It is time for an after-meal walk."

Confused by the abruptness of his announcement, Lisswyn could only stare at him. "What?"

He grinned at her, then turned, pointed to the trees behind them. "I'm going to take you over there, out of sight, and kiss you breathless. Any objections?"

Blushing, she could only shake her head even as she looked over to see Faramir and Eowyn's reactions.

Faramir had also stood, and turned to give her a mischievous smile before reaching down to take Eowyn's hand and pull her to her feet. "And we," he motioned to the trees in the opposite direction from where Eomer had pointed, "will go over there."

Eowyn simply laughed, and Lisswyn grinned, then took Eomer's offered hand and followed him into the trees.

Still smiling, she shook her head. "I can't believe you simply announced that," she muttered.

"Why not?" Now in the shade, Eomer leaned against one of the trees, then turned her, pulled her to him, slid his arms around her back. "What's the point of two betrothed couples going on a picnic together if they're not going to make an opportunity to sneak off?"

"It's not exactly sneaking," she started to say, laugher in her tone, before being silenced by his mouth settling on hers.

It started out slowly, with a bare brushing of lips, then he gradually increased its intensity. Sinking into the kiss, Lisswyn slid her hands up his chest, traced the muscles of his shoulders before linking her fingers behind his neck. In some dim corner of her mind, it occurred to her that this was really only the second time he'd kissed her where they were free simply to enjoy it, with no chance of being interrupted.

But this was very different from the night he'd kissed her behind the tent on the way from the caves to Edoras. The kiss itself was different, more focused, more urgent than those other times. The hand that had been rubbing lazy circles on her back crept up beneath her braid, anchored itself in her hair.

And her feelings were different. The knowledge of what their relationship now was, the love they were free to acknowledge, changed everything.

He lifted his head for a moment to change the angle of the kiss, and she took the opportunity to nip his lip.

"Want to play like that, do you?" he murmured before leaning down to bite her earlobe.

A shudder moved through her as he lingered there, suckled for a moment. Why was it she had never known how sensitive her earlobes were? She pushed herself tighter against him, needing more of him. His body was hard against hers, and she suppressed a moan as his lips moved down her neck at the same time his other hand moved down to her waist.

Perhaps there _was_ no part of her body not exquisitely sensitive to his touch.

He shifted, allowed his mouth to drift up her cheek to her mouth, where he once again claimed hers in a kiss of increasing urgency, an urgency Lisswyn willingly participated in.

Several long moments later, he moved again, lowering his arms and wrapping them solidly around her before muttering an oath and burying his face in her shoulder.

So close were their bodies she could feel the beat – a very fast beat – of his heart, and she could both hear and feel his attempts to catch his breath from where his head rested against her. She was still struggling to catch her own.

Finally, he eased back a bit, enough to look at her, to stroke escaped tendrils of hair away from her face. Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I love you."

"Why?" The question surprised her as much as it did him.

"What?" he stepped back, stared at her.

"Why me?"

"Why you what?"

Embarrassed, and wishing she hadn't spoken, Lisswyn looked down at her hands, empty now that he'd stepped away, and said, "Why do you love me?"

He stepped away, rubbed his face with his hands, then looked back at her. "You doubt my love for you?"

Images of him kneeling before Hunlaf came to her mind. "No! Not doubting. Just…"

"What?"

Apparently, the gossip Brynwyn had repeated had bothered her more than she'd realized. Helplessly, she looked at him, wishing again that she'd stayed silent.

"Just what?" Impatience darkened his tone, and she wondered if he'd let her change the topic. A closer look at the annoyance on his face answered that question.

"No, I've never doubted your love for me," she finally said quietly. "But not all of our people can understand why you chose me when…" her voice faltered, and she looked away.

"When what?"

"When you could have had someone who knew how to be a queen, someone who is by all accounts, nearly as beautiful as the Queen of Gondor."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked away, muttering something under his breath that she couldn't make out. Then he turned his gaze back to her, the frustration still apparent.

She went to him, cupped his cheek. "Forgive me. I should not have spoken of it. You must never think I don't trust you, or the love you have for me." She sighed. "It was just that when Brynwyn reported some gossip she'd overheard, I realized that it had never occurred to me to wonder those things. To wonder why you love me, though I never cease thinking it a miracle that you do."

He slid his arms around her, pulled her to him. There was a long silence as he appeared to struggle for a response. "Words are not my strength, Lisswyn. I could tell you all the things I admire about you, but I'm not sure it would explain why I love you and not another woman of perhaps equally admirable traits."

Embarrassed, she ducked her head against him. "I wasn't begging for compliments."

Laughing softly, he said, "I know that. But I don't know how else to answer the question." He fell silent, then said, "I think I began falling in love with you the night the Dunlendings burned your village. You were frightened out of your wits, but still managed to grab a burning branch to use as a weapon."

Still blushing, Lisswyn rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I was desperate."

His tone turned teasing. "Mmm. Or maybe it was when I awoke in the caves the first time, and found you eyeing my naked chest."

She looked up at him, mildly horrified. "You remember that?"

He grinned, and leaned down to lightly kiss her. "I do."

"I was mortified. I had no business thinking of my king that way, and even less being distracted by such things when I should have been concentrating on caring for you."

The amusement was still there, but there was tenderness in his eyes as well as he looked down at her. "How do you know that being tended by a beautiful woman who found me attractive was not essential to my recovery?"

Shaking her head, she rested against him again. "I was so frightened for you," she murmured.

"I know. And that was part of the attraction as well. You treated me as a man while remembering I was a king."

Puzzled now, she looked up at him. "But you are both."

"You'd be surprised at how many people forget the man part."

"I couldn't forget that. I'd seen your chest, remember?"

He laughed aloud, and hugged her. "And even in the caves, I saw hints of your sense of humor." He tilted her chin up. "How could I not love you?"

Tears unexpectedly came to her eyes, and she blinked them back, leaned up to kiss him.

He kissed her back, then sighed. "We should probably go round up Eowyn and Faramir, and head back to Edoras. There's a stop I want to make enroute."

* * *

Lisswyn settled back against Eomer again, content – for the moment – simply to rest against him and ponder the mystery of where they were going. They were returning to Edoras by a different route, and all he would tell her was that he had a surprise for her.

They'd been bantering back and forth, with him rather obviously enjoying teasing her about their destination, but now they'd fallen silent.

They were no longer riding as close to the mountains, and were surrounded on all sides by the waving, rolling plains, though the mountains still rose up on their left. But where could they be going? Perhaps a village? There were several within an easy day's ride of Edoras.

As she pondered the question, they topped a low rise and saw a shallow valley spread out before them. A valley filled, or so it seemed, with horses, primarily mares and the foals born the previous spring. "Oh! Aren't they lovely?" she cried.

She felt him kiss the top of her head. "I thought you'd enjoy seeing one of the herds. This is one of two that are based near Edoras."

Firefoot shifted suddenly, and snorted, and Lisswyn, startled, looked up at Eomer.

He grinned. "Firefoot has sired several of these foals. He recognizes the mares."

"Ah." She returned his grin, understanding, then turned to resume watching the horses.

For the most part, they appeared undisturbed by the appearance of riders. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her head, watched as a rider started toward them, a younger rider following him.

When he reached them, he dismounted and tossed the reins to the other rider before turning and bowing.

"My lord," he smiled, then turned, greeted Eowyn and Faramir as well. "We've been expecting you."

Eomer dismounted, then reached up, helped Lisswyn down before turning and clasping the other man's arm. "Freahelm. It's good to see you."

"You, as well, sire. We were relieved to hear of the defeat of the orcs." His eyes reflected distress. "I'm sorry we were too far away to come to the aid of the city when it was attacked."

Eomer shook his head. "You are charged with the protection of the herd, Freahelm. That is no small thing."

The other man cleared his throat. "That's as it may well be, but still, if we'd been closer, I could have sent a few of my men to help." He sighed, and then his gaze turned to Lisswyn.

Eomer turned to her as well, and smiled. "Freahelm, this is my lady, Lisswyn."

A thrill went through her at his words, as she'd never heard him refer to her that way before, and she flashed him a quick smile before turning to the rider.

"It's a pleasure, my lady."

Looking beyond him, to the healthy herd and the members of his extended family who were tending them, it was easy to respond. "The pleasure is mine." Curious, she looked all around, but saw no sign of shelter. "The King said you're based here, or at least near Edoras, but where do you live? I see no tents?"

"We don't travel as much as some herds, my lady." He turned, gestured behind him, toward the mountains. "There's a system of caves that are not only sufficiently large for our needs, but also big enough to stable the horses during bitter weather."

She frowned. "I see. Caves. You stay warm enough?"

His face softened. "That's right. I heard that when the King met you, you were living in caves, and barely surviving. But our situation is very different," he said gently. "Not only are we close enough to trade with Edoras for the food and clothing we need, many of the caves have natural chimneys. Both we and the horses stay quite warm during winter."

Embarrassed, Lisswyn nodded. "Of course. I should have thought of that. Forgive me."

He shook his head. "Please, don't apologize. It will mean a great deal to my missus that you thought to ask about us."

She nodded, but still feeling awkward, looked away hoping for a distraction. And saw one in the distance, in the form of a young chestnut mare, both she and the rider on her back apparently running simply for the joy of it.

"Oh, how lovely."

Beside her, she heard Freahelm let out an exasperated breath. "Forgive me, sire. That's my youngest daughter, and she's a bit strong-willed. She was determined to show the horse off to you, and my forbidding it apparently didn't deter her."

Puzzled, Lisswyn turned, looked at them. Eomer exchanged an amused look with Eowyn and Faramir, as if remembering another strong-willed young woman, then turned back to Freahelm. "The mare is beautiful, Freahelm. It's hard to blame your daughter for wanting to show her off."

They turned back to watch as the rider turned the horse toward them, and Lisswyn felt Eomer's hands come down on her shoulders from behind her. "A fine mount for a queen, don't you think?"

Startled, she looked up at him, saw the mischief in his eyes. "For me?"

Laughing softly, he said, "Are there other queens – or soon to be queens – I might be likely to give a horse to?"

Reaching up, she laid a hand over one of his, and smiled. "I hope not." Then words simply failed her. It had been years since she'd had a horse she could even ride regularly, let alone one to call her own. Moved, she squeezed his hand before turning to watch the young woman bring the mare to a halt near them, and dismount.

Instead of immediately leading the horse to them, however, she leaned against the mare's neck, and Lisswyn watched as the horse turned to nuzzle her, and understood that however much pride the young woman had in the horse, there was grief as well in parting from her.

Freahelm cleared his throat, and Lisswyn looked over at him, saw sympathy, frustration and impatience all mixed together.

"Let me," she said quietly, then walked the short distance to where the two were standing, the girl's – for Lisswyn could see now just how young she was – arms still around the horse's neck. She wished there was some easy way of sparing the girl, but to refuse the gift of the horse, even if Eomer understood, would offend Freahelm – and probably his daughter as well.

She held her hand out to the mare, and waited while the horse sniffed her, then couldn't help a soft laugh at the noise of disapproval she received when the animal discovered her hand was empty. "If I'd known, I would have brought you a carrot," she told the mare.

The girl standing next to her took a deep breath before looking up, obviously fighting tears. "She really prefers apples. The riper, the better."

"I'll remember." Lisswyn began stroking the horse's neck. "She's so beautiful. What do you call her?"

"It doesn't matter. She'll have a new name now." Her voice was still thick with tears.

"Maybe. That depends on the name," Lisswyn responded.

Startled, the girl looked up, then away. "It's a foolish name for a horse, or so my da says. But I called her Dancer." She shrugged helplessly. "She likes to dance."

As if on cue, the mare shifted, stepping back a bit, then moving forward, as if to music only she could hear. Lisswyn laughed. "So I see. I'd say Dancer is a fine name for her, then."

"You'd keep my name for her?" The girl looked simply astonished.

Lisswyn smiled. "Why not? It is perhaps unusual, but it obviously suits her." More gently, she asked, "And what is your name?"

"My name?" Flushing as she realized how foolish the question sounded, she responded, "My name is Brea, my lady."

"Brea. I take it you've trained her?"

The girl sighed. "Yes. She's the first horse my da has let me truly train from a foal, and probably the last one he'll let me near. He warned me not to get too attached to her."

"It's hard to train them well if you don't love them, Brea," Lisswyn said quietly. "And it's obvious you've done a wonderful job with her."

Despite her sadness, the girl glowed at the praise, and offered Lisswyn a shy smile. "Thank you."

"Being so close to Edoras, you must occasionally come into the city?"

Confused by the change of topic, Brea nodded. "A few times a year."

"And you know where the royal stables are?"

"Of course."

"Good. When you come to the city, and have the time, come by the stables. Ask for Master Breghelm, and tell him you'd like to see Dancer. I'll tell him to expect you."

Shock again had Brea looking up. "I can still see her?"

"Of course – why shouldn't you? While I'll take the best possible care of her, Brea, she'll remember you. It will be good for both of you to see each other once in a while."

Brea turned her face back to the horse, resumed stroking her while she obviously struggled for composure. Finally, she looked back up. "Thank you for that." Then she gave a watery smile. "I'm glad you're going to be our queen."

Lisswyn gave a weak laugh in response. "Thank _you _for that." Looking again at Dancer, she added, "Now, tell me anything else you'd like for me to know about her."

* * *

_A/N: A very long chapter, but we're so close to the end (only another chapter or so to go) I decided not to drag things out by splitting this up. _

_For those who asked, the MPA's are the 'My Precious Awards' given out in LOTR fandom, and this has been nominated in two categories. I'm still thrilled beyond words. _


	37. Children of Meduseld

Three days before the wedding, Eomer approached the stables with a grin on his face. Breghelm had found him earlier and rather pointedly noted that it had been nearly a week since Eomer had been in to spend any time with Firefoot. He hadn't needed to say any more – Eomer knew as well as anyone that while others could care for his horse, no one else could maintain the bond between them. Grateful to the stablemaster for giving him the excuse he needed to spend the afternoon riding, he'd arranged with Eothain to meet him outside the gates with a small contingent of guards. The fact that he could no longer ride by himself grated on every possible level, but the memory of the orc ambush was still too fresh for him to take unnecessary risks.

The thought of time with Firefoot wasn't the only reason for his good humor. The rebuilding of the city was nearly complete – he no longer saw piles of burnt wood where homes used to be – the harvest was in, guaranteeing his people food for the winter…and his wedding was in three days. Oh, yes. There was much to smile at.

He stepped into the stable, and immediately saw Dancer – what a name for a horse! – looking over the gate of her stall at him. He knew Lisswyn had been spending a lot of time with the mare – that was another of Breghelm's pointed comments, that his bride-to-be was making time for _her_ mount – and as he went over to greet the horse, he wished for a moment that Lisswyn had the time to go with him. But she was meeting with the dressmakers this afternoon.

Hearing a noise, he turned, saw Eoden and Andric standing across the aisle, watching him. And immediately knew his good mood was at risk. Eoden's expression was worried, anxious, conflicted, but Andric…Andric was looking at him with such a look of open hostility, Eomer nearly turned to make sure there was no one standing behind him.

"Andric? Eoden? What is it? What's wrong?" Andric's expression darkened, and Eoden appeared to be struggling for a response, but before either of them answered, he heard a noise, perhaps that of a kitten crying, from the empty stall behind the boys. Puzzled, he started toward the stall, only to have Andric step in front of him.

"Leave her alone."

The boy's voice was surly, the disrespect so out of character that Eomer paused, stared. What was going on?

"Andric!" Eoden's distress, anger and confusion were apparent, and he shoved his brother out of the way. "You can't talk to him that way!"

Deciding to get to the bottom of the mystery before dealing with Andric, Eomer looked over the top of the stall, and immediately understood the source of Andric's odd behavior, if not why it was directed at him. Tucked up next to the wall, her face pressed against her knees as she wept, was Brynwyn.

"Brynwyn?" She didn't appear physically injured, and for just a moment, he considered fetching Lisswyn.

But Andric's anger had been directed at him.

He opened the gate and crossed over and crouched next to her. "Brynwyn? What is it?" She didn't respond, and feeling helpless, he reached out, stroked her hair. "I need to know what's wrong."

"Why should she talk to you? You're sending her away!" Andric's words were bitter, and Eomer looked over, saw the boys standing in the door of the stall. Eoden appeared to be physically holding his brother back.

His own impatience came to the fore. "What do you mean?"

Eoden, hope and renewed trust in his eyes, answered. "She came out a little while ago, weeping. Someone told her that you won't want her around anymore, after the wedding, so it can be just you and Lisswyn, and that you'll be fostering her out."

Eomer bit back an oath, and turned back to the little girl. "Brynwyn." He spoke sharply, and when she didn't look up, he sat down, hauled her onto his lap, forced her hands away from her face. "You're not going anywhere."

It took a moment for the words to register, so he repeated them, and this time, she finally looked at him, the tears starting to slow.

"But they said it's normal to foster out, and you'd send me sooner rather than later," she finally said, her voice wobbly.

Already knowing the answer, he asked, "Who said that to you?"

She shook her head, dragged a fist across her face to wipe it. "I don't know her name. One of the women. She was in the hall at lunch. There were two of them."

He would bet Firefoot it was Alfild.

"Listen to me. All of you," he added, casting a glance at the boys. "It's true that it is not unusual for children of Meduseld to be fostered out – to go to a different village or eored to live for a while." Brynwyn's lips were quivering again, and she pressed them together to keep from crying – very much as he'd seen her sister do on more than one occasion. As firmly as possible, he added, "But it wouldn't be for a very long time, and it's always to someone their parents know and trust. And Lisswyn and I would never make you go if you truly didn't want to."

"I won't want to. I like it here." Brynwyn sounded so definite, he nearly smiled.

"That's fine, then. Though if you want to rethink that in ten or so years and perhaps go to Ithilien to stay with my sister for awhile, you can do that."

"Lady Eowyn?"

He nodded.

"Not right now?"

"Absolutely not."

As Brynwyn relaxed, he looked up at the boys again. Eoden's expression was now one of relief, but Andric, his anger drained away, simply looked stricken as he realized just how out of line he'd been. He turned and darted away. Eomer looked down at the little girl in his lap. Obviously, he needed to talk to Andric, but it might not hurt the little boy to wait for a while, to really think about what had happened. And it would give Eomer time to consider how to approach him.

In the meantime, he'd take the opportunity to try to make it as clear as possible to the people of Edoras what he intended his relationship to be with Lisswyn's sister. "Brynwyn? Would you like to go for a ride on Firefoot with me?"

Her eyes went wide with surprise and delight, and she nodded. As he stood, then helped her to her feet, he could only hope it would always be so easy to deal with her tears.

* * *

Eomer brought Firefoot around, slowed him to a walk. The stallion snorted, making Brynwyn laugh, and Eomer grinned. Surrounded by some of his guard, they'd galloped hard in a circle around the city, and Firefoot was plainly ready to go again – as was the little girl in front of him. It amused him that his horse, while very much enjoying the run, had obviously been aware of their small passenger. Though as spirited as always, Firefoot had been more controlled, even careful, than was common for him when Eomer alone was on him.

As for Brynwyn, she seemed fearless on the back of the warhorse. Her hands fisted in his mane, the faster Firefoot had run, the louder she had laughed.

In the spring, he'd see about acquiring a pony for her. It was time she learned to ride for herself.

He motioned with his arm, started back toward the gates of the city. He wouldn't have minded another circuit of the city himself, but he still needed to talk to Andric, and it would be unfair to the boy to postpone the conversation unnecessarily.

As they rode back into Edoras, he saw more people noting where Brynwyn rode. That was good. Although she would obviously never be in a position to rule, he intended to raise her as his daughter, and the sooner his people understood that, the better.

Fostering her out because he wouldn't want her around, indeed. Fury at Alfild spiked through him, and he forced it back. It was true that it was common for royal children to spend part of their late childhood living away from Edoras with another eored or even in Gondor – the relationships that were formed strengthened ties between the King and his far-flung subjects, as well as other kingdoms.

But for anyone to have suggested he would send a child Brynwyn's age somewhere else, let alone do it simply to have her out of Edoras…he was going to have to figure out what to do about Alfild. That was apparent. But if he sent her back to the Eastfold, she would twist the entire situation around to make additional problems for him and Lisswyn, he was sure of it.

They reached the stables, and Eoden came out to help him as he dismounted and reached up for Brynwyn. He brushed his hand over her hair, smoothed it back. "Why don't you go find Lisswyn and Hilde? They may be wondering where you are." She nodded, and would have turned away, but he called her back. "Brynwyn?"

"Sire?"

"In the future, when someone says something that upsets you, no matter what it is, ask me or Lisswyn before assuming it's true."

She stared at him for a long moment, then solemnly nodded her head before turning to dart off.

In silence, Eoden helped him curry Firefoot, and then Eomer looked at him. "Where is your brother?"

Anxiety came and went in Eoden's eyes. "At the paddocks, sire."

Eomer nodded, and reaching out, squeezed Eoden's shoulder, held it for a moment before turning to leave.

He'd thought Andric would be exercising one of the horses in the paddock, but instead the boy was leaning disconsolately against the fence, staring into the empty ring. Eomer went over, leaned against the fence next to him.

Andric tensed, but didn't look at him. "My lord." His voice was so soft, Eomer could barely hear it.

"What would your mother think of what happened earlier?" Perhaps it was an unfair question, but he thought he knew what the answer would be, and he wanted Andric to see the situation framed not only in terms of his disrespect to his king, but also as a way of reminding him he still had someone who would serve as a parent to him.

Startled by the question, Andric looked up at him, then swallowed, looked away again, his shoulders hunched. "She'd thrash me for speaking that way to you."

Eomer nodded, turned to join him in staring at the empty paddock. And remembered himself as a young boy, awaiting his fate. And remembered, too, his uncle's mercy.

"I'm not going to thrash you, Andric." _This time. _He left the words unspoken, knew the boy heard them in his voice, though Eomer would bet there would never be a time where Andric's transgressions, whatever they were, were serious enough to result in such punishment. But he wanted there to be no doubt in Andric's mind who he answered to. "But you have to understand that while you're allowed to be honest with me, even angry, you must never again display that kind of disrepect – not only to me, but to anyone in authority over you."

Andric looked up at him, relief, sorrow, and shame intermixed on his face. "My father would have thrashed me for speaking to anyone that way," he admitted.

Eomer nodded. "It matters that you were trying to defend someone weaker and smaller than you. That is an admirable trait. But you must learn whom to defend such people from – and whom to trust."

He saw the shame intensify in Andric's eyes. "I do trust you, sire. But Brynwyn was so upset, so sure of what she'd been told…" he faltered.

"All the more reason to come to me or Lisswyn. Andric, it is not going to be easy for any of you, living in Meduseld. There are always going to be those who are envious of you, or think to make trouble or mischief by twisting things, or even by spreading outright lies. And the only defense against such is the truth – which can only be determined by honesty between us."

Andric nodded, and Eomer reached over, squeezed his shoulder. "Do you not have tasks Breghelm assigned you to do today?"

"Yes, sire."

"Then you had better get started on them. As I recall, explaining to him why chores are delayed is no easy matter."

Andric gave him a weak grin in response, and they started around the paddock together.

* * *

Lisswyn smiled and stepped back, admiring the dress in front of her before turning the smile on the women next to her.

"It's beautiful, my lady, if I do say so myself," the older of the two said, a satisfied tone in her voice.

"It is indeed, Jena, thanks to you, to both of you," Lisswyn replied, nodding to Garwyn, the other dressmaker, as well.

Made of ivory silk with a dark green overskirt and gold trim, her bridal gown was lovelier than anything she'd ever dreamed of as a girl. Elegant, but still simple – at least for a royal wedding – in keeping with her desire not to seem ostentatious when so many people in Edoras were still suffering.

Jenna and Garwyn had made it clear they understood both the sacrifice it had been for Lisswyn not to make the dress herself, and the honor she'd given them by asking them to make it. They'd more than willingly collaborated with her on the dress's design, and a friendship of sorts had grown up between the three of them.

A glance out the window told her the afternoon was nearly gone. Truly, the dress was finished barely in time. There were two days left until the festival and their wedding, but with the city already full of visitors, the celebrations had started, and it seemed every moment of the next two days would be busy.

"Are you coming to the tea?" she asked them, turning to once again straighten the dress hanging before them.

Garwyn nodded, an eager smile on her face, but Jena shook her head. "I'm not." There was humor in the older woman's tone. "Those fancy things are not for the likes of me."

Lisswyn frowned, and turned to look at her more closely. The tea that afternoon was intended for all the women of Edoras, noblewoman and commoner alike. Although social divisions were more relaxed in the Riddermark than they apparently were in Gondor, they were present, and such gatherings were rare. Nonetheless, it was important to Lisswyn that everyone feel welcome.

Jena smiled at her. "Don't fret, my lady. I would go if I had a mind to." Her smile turned wry. "I'm just too old to appreciate spending my afternoon with all those women with nothing better to talk about than how ugly their neighbor's dress is."

Lisswyn choked back a laugh. "I'm afraid you have a point. Alas, I must go. Perhaps the presence of Queen Arwen and Princess Lothiriel will keep the conversation from focusing overmuch on the dresses around them."

Jena smiled. "It might at that. A fair number of the women are intimidated by the Queen of Gondor."

It was easy to see why, Lisswyn reflected, as she left to make her way to the side porch where the women were to gather. Arwen was as beautiful, perhaps more so, than what the rumors of her had tried to convey. And Lothiriel was stunning as well.

The two women, along with some of the other Gondorian nobility, had arrived three nights earlier in the company of King Elessar – who'd gone south to escort them to Edoras immediately upon being made aware of the wedding plans after his return from the north. Lisswyn had been expecting the Queen, of course – that had been the point of Elessar's trip south. But she'd been surprised by Lothiriel's presence.

She was glad the Princess had come. Although it was impossible not to feel a little shy around her – a feeling that Arwen didn't engender in her at all – watching how completely oblivious Eomer was to the Princess had been reassuring. And the other woman seemed nearly as oblivious to him, her eyes frequently resting on one of the Gondorian soldiers who'd traveled with them.

At the door to the porch, she paused, looked down to make sure her dress was still neat. Eowyn had surprised her the day before with several additional dresses she'd had Jena and Garwyn make for her, noting that, as queen, she'd need more than just her wedding dress – and was likely to be too busy to make them herself, at least before the wedding.

Still moved by the gift, Lisswyn smiled and touched the soft blue material appreciatively, then took a deep, steadying breath before reaching for the door.

As she did, a voice carried clearly through it. _Alfild. _Eomer had told her of what had happened the day before with Brynwyn, but they had decided to wait until after the wedding to figure out what to do about the woman.

Apparently, Alfild wasn't going to give them that opportunity to delay.

"…mark my words. No one knows what happened that night before she was rescued, but it's not hard to guess given what we know of Hunlaf, and that's the reason for this rushed wedding. Before long, we'll be greeted with news the new queen is with child. You mark my words."

Cold fury propelled Lisswyn through the door as Alfild finished speaking.

Silence fell, as even those who'd only been paying half-attention to Alfild looked over and saw Lisswyn. Alfild's smug look faded as she finally noted Lisswyn's presence, and Lisswyn saw a flash of panic in the other woman's eyes before the smug look reappeared.

Lisswyn spoke first. "By all means, Alfild," she said quietly, keeping her voice even. "Let us mark your words." She glanced around at the other women, was relieved to see none of the visitors from Gondor were yet present. "It will be important that these women remember your words if their men are once more called to fight a war, this time a civil war, caused by your spiteful tongue."

"What? What are you accusing me of?" Alfild jumped to her feet, and Lisswyn wondered if the woman would actually dare to strike her.

"Nothing. You're the one doing the accusing. I'm merely pointing out the possible consequences of your words. You've just accused Eomer-king of plotting to deceive the people and put a Dunlending on the throne after him."

As she watched, Lisswyn saw comprehension dawning on the faces of the women around her, and their expressions turned from mild amusement and guilt at having been caught listening to Alfild's gossip to fear and anger.

As one, they all looked at her.

"That's not what I said. I never said that. You're twisting my words." Panicked, Alfild looked around for support, and saw only stony faces in response.

"No, I don't think I am. You were suggesting that Hunlaf raped me the night I was captured by him, that I'm with child, and that the reason the King is rushing the wedding is that he intends to claim the child as his own, as the heir to the crown. That is, of course, a serious accusation to make against your king, but circumstances could make it even more worse."

"Are you with child?" The voice came from the side of the room, and Lisswyn looked over, saw the speaker was Wynne. They had had a few conversations during the past few weeks, with the other woman civil, but still reserved. Lisswyn had had the sense that she was still being evaluated by her. It was understandable, but made her nervous as well. Wynne played a significant role among the women of the court. Well-respected among the people of Edoras, her response now could be critical.

"No." Lisswyn kept her eyes on Wynne, her voice level. "I have never lain with a man, and while Hunlaf made it clear he planned to rape me," in spite of herself, she swallowed against the memories, "Eomer-King and Lord Faramir arrived before he could do so."

Someone sighed in relief, and Lisswyn grimaced. Could they really all be so dense?

"Then if you're not with child, there's nothing to worry about."

Lisswyn didn't know the woman who spoke, but Wynne clearly did. Impatiently, she said, 'Not unless she's fortunate enough to get with child very early in her marriage."

Looks of relief turned back to confusion and uncertainty.

"Wynne is correct." Lisswyn looked around, allowed her eyes to touch on Alfild. The woman's expression was both angry and bewildered, as if she couldn't figure out how she'd gone from being in control and the center of attention to being virtually ignored and very nearly accused of crimes against the state.

Lisswyn looked back at the other women, and Wynne. "If I do not immediately become pregnant with the King's child," the words themselves sent a rush of pleasure through her, despite the current situation, "then all will be well. But if I'm blessed with a child very early, such as the first week or two after the wedding, it will still be possible for people to say the child might be Hunlaf's. Babies are not infrequently born six weeks early."

"And the rumor that Alfild has started would hang over the child's head from the very beginning," Lisswyn finished, suddenly weary.

Wynne waited a moment, then nodded slowly and said, "And all it would take would be someone five, ten, fifteen, even twenty years from now to grow discontent with the king for some reason, and suddenly the accusations would be back. Civil war between those looking for trouble – and such are always present, somewhere – and those _loyal _to the king." She looked rather pointedly at Alfild as she finished speaking.

Silence fell, and Lisswyn stared off the porch, to the mountains in the distance, for a long moment. Discouraged, she finally looked back at the women, saw them all waiting. Presumably for her response.

"There were a number of reasons why it was decided to have the wedding at the same time as the harvest festival," she said. "Some were personal, and included the fact that the king didn't believe it would look right for me to continue living in Meduseld if we weren't wed, but with so many homes burnt by the orcs, there were no cots to spare. But other reasons were of a more general nature. The date itself was actually suggested by the Prince of Dol Amroth. He thought it would give our people – give _you_ – an additional reason to celebrate after the horrors of the past months. And based on the numbers of Eorlingas who've made their way to Edoras over the past few days, it seems he was correct."

She paused, glanced at Alfild, then back to the others. "The only way I can see to absolutely prevent any potential problems in the future is to delay the wedding until after it's clear to everyone – even Alfild – that I'm not currently with child. If you were looking forward to the wedding, I suggest you take up the matter of your disappointment with Alfild. If you'll excuse me, I must go notify the king that we'll be delaying the wedding."

Angry murmurs broke out, but none of them seemed directed at her, so Lisswyn, knowing tears were imminent, turned to leave.

"My lady Lisswyn."

Taking a deep breath, Lisswyn turned back. She couldn't simply walk out, no matter how badly she wanted to do so – she needed the best possible relationship with these women, no matter when the wedding took place.

She looked around, identified the speaker as Mylla, the midwife.

Standing, Mylla looked at the women, now silent once more, before turning her gaze back to Lisswyn. "If you are willing to endure a bit of indignity, I believe I have a solution to this problem."

Squashing hope, Lisswyn nodded for her to continue.

"Experienced midwives can tell when a woman has lain with a man," she finally said. "We can also frequently tell when a woman is carrying a child, even very early in the pregnancy."

As the implication of what she was saying registered, Lisswyn felt herself flush. Indignity, indeed. But it would be worth the embarrassment if such an inspection allowed the wedding to continue. Instead of responding to Mylla, however, she turned, looked at the other women before looking last at Wynne

"Will you have the examination?" Wynne asked.

"Will you accept whatever the midwives say the results are?" Lisswyn countered.

Wynne's eyebrows went up at the challenge in Lisswyn's tone, but her lips twitched in what looked to nearly be a smile. Before she could respond, Betta stood, walked over to stand by Lisswyn.

"I already believe her," she said flatly. "Not because of her, necessarily, but because I know the King to be an honorable man who would never betray the Mark in the manner that Alfild is suggesting." She turned to Lisswyn. "But having the midwives prove the accusation for nothing more than spiteful lies would prevent others from trying to join her in destroying the Riddermark."

Were the others aware of the none-too-subtle campaign going on to further discredit Alfild?

"We will accept whatever the midwives say," Wynne said firmly. "And if you're blessed quite quickly with a child, and are indeed, carrying our lord's heir a month from now, there will only be rejoicing."

Grateful, Lisswyn looked at her, met the other woman's eyes. Wynne was fully aware of her own position at court, and knew the gift of trust and acceptance she'd just given Lisswyn.

Lisswyn took a deep breath. "That's settled, then. As soon as the tea is over," she looked inquiringly at Mylla, "I'll let the midwives examine me. I would prefer not to have any more of this celebration," she motioned around her, "disrupted by Alfild's gossip."

"Afterward would be fine." Mylla said.

Lisswyn turned to where Alfild was still standing, apparently trying to decide between making an exit and in attempting to bluff her way through staying for the tea.

"I would leave, Alfild," she said quietly. "Although the day may come when you're welcomed back at court – and how you behave from now on will probably determine that – I think everyone will agree that someone who was willing to make the accusations you were making against the king does not belong at that same king's court."

Alfild flashed her a venomous look, then stormed off. Lisswyn turned, watched her go, wondering what other trouble the woman would cause.

"You handled that very well." Wynne spoke quietly from beside her.

"Thank you." Lisswyn turned to her. "Your support helped."

"I believe the king has chosen well."

With that, she turned and walked away to help herself to one of the little cakes sitting out on a table, leaving Lisswyn to stare after her in a bemused fashion.

"You do know that having her on your side will make all things at court easier, don't you?" Betta murmured in her ear, and Lisswyn turned to her, grinned. She did know. And once again, felt truly hopeful about the future.

"I appreciate your support, as well," she told the housekeeper.

Betta shrugged, but her eyes gleamed with pleasure and humor. "I, too, believe the king has chosen well," she finally said.

* * *

"I still think you should tell Eomer immediately." Eowyn scowled at her. "He should know what Alfild accused him of."

Lisswyn watched Eowyn pace around her room. It was nearly time for the evening meal, and in addition to the two of them, there were a number of other women present, including Mylla, Hilde, Liffild, and Ceolwyn.

"Given the way gossip spreads, I'm sure he'll find out soon enough," Lisswyn said. "There's no point in rushing it." She didn't add that she was reluctant to appear as if she were telling tales, or that her first response in any situation would be to run to the king.

Changing her focus, Eowyn muttered, not for the first time, "Oh, I wish I'd been there."

Privately, Lisswyn was torn between also wishing Eowyn had been there, and in thinking it was possibly a good thing she hadn't been. She was clinging to the hope that good had come out of the situation, particularly in her relationship with Wynne and some of the other women.

The door to Eowyn's chamber was suddenly slammed open, and as one, they all jumped.

Eomer stood there, and an apology for not bothering to knock appeared to be the last thing on his mind. He was furious, as angry as she'd ever seen him.

_Oh, yes,_ she thought. _He knows._

"Out. All of you." He flicked a glance around the room, then pinned Lisswyn with his eyes, dismissing everyone else.

They all fled, and even Eowyn looked startled as she allowed herself to be chased from her own chamber, ducking back in a moment later to close the door behind her.

"Are you alright?" he asked harshly.

She should have known that would be his first question, no matter how angry he was. "I'm fine."

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "What were you thinking? You cannot respond to gossip like that. You allowed yourself to be manipulated!"

Lisswyn froze as awareness dawned that at least part of his anger was directed at her, that he didn't like how she'd handled the situation.

Hurt, guilt, fear, and temper all vied for control.

Temper won.

She stood, and with effort, kept her voice even, her words precise. "I will tell you what I was thinking, _Your Majesty._" She saw him react to the title, but plowed on. "I was thinking of how to protect any child you might get me with in the next week or two. Assuming I let you near me."

He scowled at that, but before he could comment, Lisswyn continued. "What would you have had me do? I'm perfectly aware that the best response to gossip is usually to ignore it. But she was suggesting that I'm already with child. _Hunlaf's child._" She spit out the words, struggled again to maintain control.

"The way I saw it, we had four choices. We could postpone the wedding until it was obvious I was not with child. We could have had the wedding, but postponed the wedding night for the same reason." His scowl deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Lisswyn cut him off once more with a slash of her hand. "Or I could have ignored her, ignored the rumors she was spreading, and spent the first month of our marriage desperately hoping I wouldn't become pregnant, that our first child wouldn't spend his or her life under that shadow of doubt. I could not, would not, risk that, and thus chose the only other option, the one Mylla offered."

Suddenly weary beyond reason, her temper dissipated, Lisswyn leaned against Eowyn's table, and stared at him. "Please tell me which of those other choices I should have made. I would really like to know."

Instead of answering, he started toward her, to come to an abrupt halt when Lisswyn held out her hand, stopping him. "Give me a moment," she said.

She saw hurt flicker in his eyes as he registered that she didn't want to be held, and she rubbed her face, trying to find calm in the midst of too many emotions. The day had been too long, too busy, too wearying. Too disturbing.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at him. He seemed completely at a loss. More quietly, she said, "Please tell me what you would have had me do. It's the only way I'll learn."

He shook his head in frustration. "I hate that you were put into that situation. You should not have had to face those accusations. Should not have had to have that exam. Your virtue should never have been questioned."

It was the same tone of voice he'd used the night he rescued her from Hunlaf, and understanding the guilt he was feeling drained the rest of her anger. Going to him, she wrapped her arms around him, leaned against his chest. Slowly, a bit hesitantly, his arms came up, enfolded her.

They stood that way for a long moment, and then she looked up, stared intently at him. "You are not responsible for any and all ills that befall me," she said quietly, firmly. "You can not prevent every unpleasant thing from happening, nor do I expect you to."

He nodded slowly, and lowered his forehead to rest against hers. "I want to. I want to protect you. Shield you."

"Then you should not have chosen me to be your queen, as you can not protect me from everything," she said quietly.

He stiffened in response, then relaxed. "I know."

She dropped her head back onto his chest, gave in to the weariness. He still hadn't told her how she should have handled the situation at the tea, and despair bubbled up through the exhaustion. She'd thought the situation had gone as well as could be expected. If she could be that far wrong, what hope was there that she would ever figure out what it took to be a good queen?

They stood that way, with her resting against him, for some moments, until Eomer gradually became aware that his tunic was damp.

She was weeping.

He froze, uncertain of how to respond. "Lisswyn?"

She shook her head, rubbed her cheek against him, but didn't answer.

"Please tell me. I may not be able to protect you, but…" But what? Damn it, he still wanted the opportunity to try, and how could he do so if he didn't know why she was crying? Had something else happened the gossips hadn't reported?

"I'm so afraid," she finally whispered.

He held her more tightly. "Of what?"

"Of letting you down. Of letting our people down. Of disappointing you. Of making a mistake. Of not being a good queen. I don't know what I'm doing."

As the words spilled from her, regret for the accusations he'd hurled at her earlier rushed through him. She was already doubting herself, and his response to what had happened at the women's tea had only made it worse.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her hair. "You think I don't still feel all the same things?"

Startled, she looked up, and he wiped her cheek with his thumb.

"I knew about as much about being king as you do about being queen when my cousin and uncle died," he said. "And I still have days where I'm afraid the entire Riddermark will suffer for that, if they haven't already."

Indignation stirred in her eyes. "You're a good king. People are already calling you Eadig. Blessed."

"I do my best," he murmured, "and have to trust it will be enough." He ran a hand through her hair, down her back. "And you must do the same. People are already saying the same thing about you, you know. That you're going to be a good queen."

Confused, she looked at him, looked away.

He gripped her chin, forced her eyes back to his. "I was frustrated by what happened this afternoon not because I truly thought you should have acted other than you did, but because I hated that it had happened at all. Hated that you had to go through that examination by the midwives. But others are talking only of how impressed they were that you didn't lose your temper, of the way you took control of the situation. And the Lady Wynne has declared to everyone that she's grateful I had the sense to choose a level-headed queen."

"And it is not only the people of Edoras who are growing to love you," he continued. "The eoreds talk to one another, and the story of your concern for Freawald and his family, as well as the compassion you showed to his daughter, is making its way all over the Mark."

Blushing, she hid her face in his chest again. "I did what anyone would do," she muttered.

"Maybe so," he said gently. "But that doesn't change the fact that a queen capable not only of feeling such compassion but also acting on it is going to be well-loved by the people."

"I banished Alfild from court," she murmured.

"I heard. I also heard that someone told her she was fortunate it was you and not Eowyn, as you only banished her, and Eowyn might have seen fit to run her through with a sword first."

Lisswyn laughed, and simply leaned against him.

"So does this mean I'm no longer in danger of what you threatened me with earlier?"

Puzzled, she looked up, and he grinned at her. "Of not being allowed near you after we're wed?"

She laughed, then her eyes darkened with mischief, and she leaned up to say softly in his ear, "We will be wed in two days, my lord."

Knowing from her tone there was more, he said, "yes?"

"I've been declared a virgin by what felt like every midwife in the Riddermark." Her eyes were still dancing even as a blush made its way up her cheeks. "If I slipped into your room tonight, no one would ever know we'd anticipated the ceremony."

Desire slammed into him as he simply stared at her, stunned, and watched the blush darken. "You tease," he finally muttered. "You shouldn't make empty promises like that. I might take you up on them."

Laughing, she once again rested her head on his chest, then yawned. "I'm afraid that even if I dared attempt such a thing, I would be a terrible disappointment to you. I'd probably fall asleep en route to the bed."

"You could never disappoint me," he said. "But I'll enlist Eowyn and Hilde's help to see that you get a lot of sleep over the next two nights, just to be on the safe side."

She laughed at him again, and he sighed, rubbed her back. "Speaking of Eowyn, I'd better go find her and apologize for throwing her out of her chambers."

"Not to mention the other women who were in here. What if someone had been changing clothes?"

He kissed her lightly. "It wouldn't have mattered, as I had eyes only for you."

* * *

_A/N: Getting very close to the end, now. :)   
_

_Randomisation asked for more info about the MPAs. Go here: http/ _

_According to the site, voting begins May 15. _


	38. The Queen of the Riddermark

_A/N: My apologies for the delay with this! I've been out of town on business all week, and thought I'd have time to write at night, but didn't. More comments at the bottom..._

* * *

Eomer looked around, noted that the great hall was slowly emptying as people made their way out of Meduseld, down through Edoras and out to the plains beyond, where they had set up tents and campsites they'd dwell in during the festival. 

With the wedding tomorrow adding another reason to celebrate, a lot of them probably wouldn't sleep at all tonight – they'd keep on laughing, drinking and dancing right through sun-up.

Amused by some of the comments and friendly challenges he heard as people left, he suspected many of the guests at his wedding would have headaches. He grinned. As long as they were enjoying themselves.

Across the hall, he saw Lisswyn slipping out one of the side doors. Curious, he followed her, found her standing at the end of the hallway that opened onto the porch. Leaning against the wall, she appeared relaxed.

"Lisswyn?" He moved forward, not sorry to have a few quiet moments with her. They'd been together much of the day in an official capacity, welcoming people to Edoras and the festival, but hadn't had any time alone.

She looked over her shoulder, and in the darkness, he sensed rather than saw her smile. "Isn't it a beautiful night? I couldn't resist coming out for a last look before going to bed." He stepped up, put his hands on her shoulders and looked out toward the mountains. The moon was nearly full – would be so, tomorrow. There was a crisp feeling to the air, scented with smoke from the campfires. He could hear shouts of laughter even at this distance.

"They sound so happy."

He slid his hands down her arms, wrapped them around her waist, rested his chin on the top of her head. She was wearing the cloak he'd given her during the journey from the caves. Eowyn had told him she'd hemmed it and had so far refused to wear another one. When winter properly set in, she'd change her mind on that, he suspected, and want a fur-lined one. But in the meantime, the fact that she wanted to wear his cloak simply touched him.

"They are," he said in response to her comment. "In spite of everything that has happened, we had a good harvest – enough not just for the people of Edoras, but for those who didn't fare so well, or who lost crops to the orcs. The orcs are dead, and though we know small bands of them still roam, none are big enough to cause serious problems, so we should have a safe winter. And they like you, like the fact the Riddermark will once more have a queen. That speaks to them of stability. Hope. A future."

A companionable silence fell, one Eomer was reluctant to end. They both needed sleep, but she was right – it was a beautiful night.

Eventually, he stirred, looked down. She wore a thoughtful expression, a hint of a smile on her face.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I was wondering what my parents would think of all of this. Of their daughter becoming queen of the Mark."

A bit surprised – but relieved – that there was humor in her tone rather than any sadness, he couldn't resist asking, "What do you think they would say?"

She didn't answer right away, looked back out over the view. When she did respond, her voice was soft, reflective. "They'd be surprised, of course. But I believe they'd like the fact that it could happen – that a village girl could be accepted as queen. They'd like what that says about the future of the Mark, I think." She glanced up again, slipped her hand out of the cloak to reach up and touch his cheek. "More than anything else, though, they'd be grateful you're a good man. That would matter more than your being king."

Not sure what to say, he leaned down and kissed her, then again rested his chin on her head.

"What about you?" Her voice was still quiet.

"What do you mean?"

"What would your parents think of our betrothal?"

There was a note of insecurity in her voice, and he tightened his arms, nuzzled her cheek as he thought of how to answer. "My mother would like you, very much, I think, for the same reasons Wynne does. And my father…" he laughed, a little embarrassed.

"What?"

"My father would simply be grateful that falling for you distracted me from the first woman I planned to wed. I had barely learned to talk when I announced I was going to marry my mother as soon as I learned to ride a horse."

"Oh, my." Lisswyn joined him in laughter. "That does give me something to live up to, doesn't it?"

He hugged her. "I'm confident you're up to the task."

* * *

Lisswyn stood in an antechamber immediately off the main doors to the great hall of Meduseld. Normally, it held extra weapons for the doorwardens.

Today it held the nervous soon-to-be queen of the Riddermark.

Very soon.

"My lady."

She looked up, saw Thedhelm standing there, a slight smile on his face.

"The King is on the dais, and the guests are mostly settled. It's time."

Mostly settled. With more guests than seats, that was as much as could be managed.

She took a deep breath, smiled back at him. Wished the words, 'mostly settled' described her stomach, instead of the orc battle raging in it at the moment.

Stepping out of the antechamber, she turned, faced the dais at the other end. Though there was a path – more or less – through the crowd, it was still difficult to see all the way to the other end of the hall. Why had she never noticed before just how big it was? How great the distance between the doors and the dais?

Because she'd never had to walk its length before, the focus of every eye in the room.

And all those eyes were already turning toward her, various conversations dying as they looked back at her expectantly.

She started through the crowd, reminded herself to smile. It would never do for the people to misunderstand her expression – frozen with nerves – and think she was anything less than pleased to be becoming their queen.

And then she glanced up, saw Eomer at the dais, waiting for her.

He was dressed in the anticipated green velvet tunic with gold trim, his sword at his side and the crown he seldom wore proving it fit fine, just the same. So proudly he stood there, so regal he looked that it nearly took her breath.

Then she saw his eyes, dark with emotion, and her heart jumped at what she saw there, the knowledge that that emotion was all for her.

And found it easy after all to smile at the people around her as she walked the rest of the way to the dais.

It helped that she saw people she knew, and they were nearly all beaming at her. Freawald and his family, Tille, Betta, Wynne, Ceolwyn, who winked at her, and many others.

As she reached the front, Eomer stepped down, took her hands. Startled – that wasn't part of the ceremony – she looked up, saw the glint in his eyes as he squeezed her fingers.

Later, Eowyn told her that she spoke her vows, and the oaths she took as queen, perfectly.

But Lisswyn, despite having struggled to memorize the ancient words, had no memory of saying them. All she remembered from the ceremony itself was Eomer's eyes.

Then came the moment she'd been dreading, when Eomer turned to the crowd and asked them if they accepted her as queen. It was a mere formality, more an acknowledgement of the respect that the Kings of the Riddermark had for their subjects than anything else, and no one had seriously entertained the notion that anyone would protest.

No one but Lisswyn, anyway, who'd had more than one nightmare over it.

But the people rose up almost as one and cheered, and sudden tears came to her eyes as she finally, truly, understood the depth of their acceptance.

Eomer merely laughed, and then pulled her to him. "This isn't part of the ritual, either," he said with a grin before thoroughly kissing her, and she heard laughter mixing in with the cheers.

Someone cleared their throat, and Eomer reluctantly lifted his head. Elfhelm, smiling, was standing next to him, holding the queen's crown on a pillow. It was a smaller, more feminine version of the King's crown, and just looking at it brought her nerves back. It wasn't to Eomer alone that she was making vows, and the circlet of gold about to be placed on her head represented those promises to the people of the Riddermark.

Eomer was watching her, a steady look in his eyes, and she understood that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that he had no questions at all in her ability to live up to those responsibilities. He nodded his thanks to Elfhelm as he turned, lifted the crown, then looked back at Lisswyn.

Her eyes on his, she knelt before him, and unbidden came the memory of the night he'd knelt before Hunlaf, pleading for her life.

He gently placed the crown on her head, and then lifted her chin with his hand and smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with love and pride, before helping her to her feet and turning her to face the crowd.

They cheered again, were cheering when he made the formal presentation of her as their queen, but no one seemed to mind, and Lisswyn spared a moment to wonder if they were really cheering for her, or just that the ceremony was over and the feasting could begin.

They were Eorlingas, after all.

* * *

"You're being remarkably patient," an amused voice said from behind him.

Startled, Eomer turned, saw Imrahil standing there, a glass of wine in his hand, a smile on his face.

Motioning to the dance floor, where Lisswyn was currently dancing with Aragorn, the Prince continued, "It's late enough that no one would blame you if you and your bride slipped off, you know."

Eomer smiled in response, then turned back to watch the dance floor. "She's having such a good time, I hate to end the evening for her," he finally said. "I think this is the first time she's truly allowed herself to believe in how much affection the people have for her."

"Very true. But that doesn't mean she's not also interested in discovering how much affection you have for her," Imrahil countered, amusement still evident. "She's spending so much time watching you that she's just lost her focus and stepped on Elessar's foot for at the least the second time this dance. Perhaps you should spare him before she does any real damage."

Eomer laughed, but felt compelled to defend his wife. "I'm sure it's not that bad, but I believe I will take you up on your suggestion."

"Go, enjoy yourselves. You've done your duty, both inside the golden hall and outside, among those who were unable to squeeze in during the ceremony. The rest of the evening belongs to you."

Eomer nodded, and started across the floor as the dance ended. Imrahil was correct, as usual. Although duty had required they spend a certain amount of time with their guests, he was certain the sun had taken at least twice as long as normal to set.

Lisswyn saw him coming, and the smile she gave him nearly had him tripping over his own feet. Oh, yes. It was past time for some private time with his bride.

Aragorn, wise man that he was – not to mention recently married – must have recognized the look in his eye, because he smiled, and escorted Lisswyn over to him.

Bowing, he smiled at her. "Thank you for the pleasant dance, my lady. I believe the next one belongs to Eomer."

Momentarily confused by the humor she apparently caught in Aragorn's tone, he saw her expression change as understanding dawned. Blushing, but with a smile, she held out her hand, allowed herself to be pulled into his arms.

The music was being provided by several fiddlers who broke off in the middle of the lively piece they'd been playing while Aragorn and Lisswyn had danced to something slower and rather more romantic as they saw him take Lisswyn into his arms.

Eomer grinned, and leaned down to nuzzle her cheek as he started around the floor with her – all the while steering her towards the edge of the great hall, and their chambers.

The whoops and laughs from the guests, an odd contrast to the flowing nature of the music, told him very few of them were fooled by his subtle attempts to stage a quiet exit, but he didn't care.

They were both laughing at the comments they could still hear coming from the hall – including many rather ribald toasts suggesting the next best thing after a queen would be an heir – when they reached the door to their chambers, and he quickly led her in, closed and locked it, then pulled her to him. He'd planned to kiss her – to devour her – but instead, settled for wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck.

Hunger for her demanded he carry her into the bedchamber and claim her, love her in every possible way. Love for her demanded all the tenderness that was threatening to consume him.

As his heart settled a bit, he realized there was something else he wanted, something even beyond the physical pleasure they'd waited so long for, and that was simply to relax with her, to enjoy being with her – in all ways, not just in the bedchamber. He lifted his head, traced her cheek with his thumb, rubbed it across her lips, saw the puzzlement in her eyes.

He smiled, leaned down to kiss her, slowly and thoroughly, then led her over to the table in front of the fire. Settling in one of the chairs, he pulled her into his lap, nuzzled her as she laughed in response.

Per his request, Betta and Tille had set a light meal out, and he reached over, poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her. "I'm not sure you've had any of this most excellent wine Aragorn gifted us with."

She sipped it, and over the rim, her expression was amused. "I was afraid to. I didn't want people to remember our wedding day as the day they saw the queen tipsy."

He grinned at the thought. "Given the amount most of them have had to drink, I doubt you've anything to worry about."

She took another drink of the wine before setting it on the table and settling back against him. "Best not to take any chances. I'd rather them remember their own headaches than me making a spectacle of myself." The humor in her tone faded when she looked up at him, was replaced by something altogether deeper. She pulled him down for a kiss, and said softly, "I also wanted the queen to remember every detail of tonight."

That fierce mix of desire and tenderness was back, making it difficult to speak, and he had to swallow before he could do so. "That is something the king has no objections to whatsoever," he murmured against her lips.

She smiled back, and reached for the wine. "I think I can risk another drink or two, though. You're right – it's very good." She offered the goblet to him, and he took a drink, enjoyed sharing it with her even more than the taste.

"I saw your dance with Brynwyn. She was so excited over it." Humor and tenderness were in her eyes again. "How did your feet survive?"

He laughed. "They're fine. She doesn't weigh that much." Most of his 'dance' had been with the little girl standing on his feet as he'd swayed around the room with her.

Lisswyn sat the wine back on the table, then pulled him down for a kiss. "That was when I first started falling in love with you, you know."

Confused, he cocked his head, allowed his own humor to show. "Only tonight? When I danced with your sister?"

"No…the night you rescued us from the Dunlendings. You came down off Firefoot to reassure Brynwyn. Such a thing wouldn't have occurred to many men, but it did to you. There was so much to do, but you still took the time to talk to her." Her eyes were shining with moisture and a look that humbled him. "I think my heart was probably lost from that moment on, I just didn't know it."

He cleared his throat, laid his hand over her heart, felt its steady beat. "And fortunate am I to have been given that heart."

She sighed, rested against him again, and silence fell between them. He leaned down, pressed his lips against her hair, glad he'd done this – taken the time to just relax with her before going to the bedchamber.

"I'm sorry Maegwen isn't here." He regretted the words as soon as they were out. He'd been thinking of it all day, had known Lisswyn was, as well. But he hadn't intended to speak of it.

But when she looked up at him, her expression was thoughtful, not sad. "I think she knew."

"Knew what?"

"Knew what would grow between us. I know it doesn't make any sense, not really. But this morning, while I was dressing for the ceremony, I remembered a conversation she and I had in the caves."

He brought his hand up, cupped her cheek. Waited.

"She knew I was attracted to you, and commented on it. I expected her to lecture me on my foolishness, to tell me that it could only lead to heartbreak, but instead she simply said that…" she faltered, and he watched a blush come into her cheeks.

"What?"

"That there was nothing ordinary about me, and that you would see that."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, leaned down to brush her lips with a light kiss. "Maegwen was a very wise woman."

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and thought about what she'd said. Thinking of everything she'd told him of Maegwen, everything he remembered from the encounters he'd had with her, himself, perhaps Lisswyn was right. As unlikely as it seemed, maybe Maegwen had somehow known what would happen, would grow between them.

He liked the idea of it, anyway, because of the comfort he knew it would offer Lisswyn.

She stirred against him. "Eomer?" She turned his face back toward her. Her eyes were dark, and even in the dim light of the fire he could see another blush creeping up her face.

"Yes?"

"I don't want any more wine just now."

As her meaning registered, he swallowed. She was sitting in his lap. She had to know what he wanted – his body wasn't keeping it a secret.

She wiggled against him, gave a soft laugh – a laugh that faded when he slipped his hand up and gently cupped her breast. It pleased him no end that her heartbeat immediately sped up to match his.

She had gone very still, her eyes on him, waiting, and he leaned down, kissed her, felt her tremble in his arms as she linked her hands behind his neck and kissed him back.

Long moments later, he lifted his head, was about to stand and carry her into the bedchamber when she suddenly pulled away from him. Slipping off his lap, she touched his lips with her finger before whispering, "Wait here."

And then she was gone. Turning, he watched her go through the door to the bedchamber, closing it behind her. His mind still addled by passion, he tried to grasp what was happening. Was he supposed to follow her?

No. She'd told him to wait, and she'd been smiling.

Shaking his head to clear it, he went over to stir the fire, more for something to do than because it needed it.

Was she nervous? She didn't seem so. A little shy, yes, but nervous, no.

He was. He very much wanted the night to be perfect for both of them.

He turned, looked over at the door she'd gone through, felt himself settle. It would be perfect, he thought. They would make it so.

The door opened, she peeked out, and he felt his insides clench again, even as he saw that now, there was nervousness in her eyes, mixed with the love.

She stepped through the door, and his throat closed. She was wearing a silk gown and had released her hair from the complicated arrangement it had been in during the wedding. The gown was ivory in color, trimmed in some sort of gold thread, and it clung to her in places, and seemed to float tantalizingly around her in others.

She was awaiting a response, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he could get anything out. But this too, Eowyn had told him about, apparently not at all convinced he'd understand the significance of the nightgown Lisswyn had made. But how could he not, when he could see such love, pride and hopefulness in her eyes?

"It's beautiful," he whispered, then words simply failed him. He walked over to her, lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it. "And so are you."

Her smile broadened, and she leaned up, kissed him.

Aware of love, desire, and gratitude for the miracle that had allowed her to be in his life, he kissed her back.

_fin. _

_

* * *

A/N: Here ends the main part of the story. I was aiming for a bit of sweetness more than anything else, and hope I didn't disappoint._

_There are going to be sequels -- something similar to what Deandra has done with her Elfwine Chronicles, I think, where stories of different lengths will pick up the events of Eomer and Lisswyn's lives at different points along the way. They'll all have the main title of "Home of the Horselord" followed by a unique subtitle, and will have different ratings. Only the first one is written, though, and I'm going to be focusing on writing a novel, so I'm not sure how often they'll appear. If you want to read them, make sure you've got your notifications set to get stories from me. :)  
_

_First up, though, hopefully posted sometime late next week or next weekend, is a direct sequel to this -- the, er, more detailed wedding night. I didn't want to give the whole thing a rating of 'M' just for the final chapter, but it's not fair to people who prefer not to read bedroom stories to add it to the end of a 'T' rated story. So it will follow as a sequel in just a few days._

_ In regards to the MPA site -- blocks URLs from being posted, which is the reason it was invisible. If you do a Google search on 'MPA My precious awards' the main website (with previous years' winners) is one of the first hits. Change the 2005 in the URL to 2006 to get the details for this year. I'm sorry it's so complicated, but I've enjoyed reading some of the stories from other years -- the site is worth a visit for that alone. _

_And that's it, then. I'm a little sad to be posting this, even knowing that I'll be posting the wedding night scene next week. I've enjoyed this whole experience, and have been thrilled beyond words that so many of you have liked this story, and taken the time to tell me so. A million, million thanks.  
_


End file.
